


fault lines

by deadseasalt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cats, I love Cats, Salty Tsukishima, athletes' angst, because haikyuu, kageyama loves cats, oikage, who doesn't love cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-08 08:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10382781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadseasalt/pseuds/deadseasalt
Summary: Kageyama sees Oikawa-san every day at his bus stop.





	1. Bus Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tea_EarlGrey_Hot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_EarlGrey_Hot/gifts).



> For Tea_EarlGrey_Hot for being a wonderful beta.

Kageyama moves house in July.

They’ve talked about it for years now, him and his mother, talked about moving out of the dingy apartment upstairs of the local ramen joint into a house of their own, but it was only this summer that they went house-hunting in earnest.

The house they have moved into is next to the railroad tracks. His mother had seen the “FOR SALE” sign while on the train to work. It’s old, the smell of mildew and earth clinging to its newly-painted walls. The grass in the yard is unkempt and yellowing, and the doors creak every time they open or close. But the front gates open to a small alleyway peppered with daisies and morning glories and feral cats, and the sound of trains rumbling is always comforting, and Kageyama’s room faces the sunset, and he really, really likes it.

The only bad thing about moving, though, is that he now has to take the bus to school. Osato is closer to Sendai, where his mother works, but Kageyama can no longer walk to Karasuno. Well, he could, but it would take an hour and a half to get there, and it would be a waste of time to spend three hours a day walking when a bus ride is only twenty minutes.

Today, Kageyama gets up at five, drinks a box of milk, wolfs down a bowl of rice, and heads to the bus stop. It’s dark, because even though his alleyway is peppered with daisies and morning glories, it lacks streetlights. So Kageyama has to turn on the flashlight app on his cellphone to navigate his way to the main street. Somewhere along the way, a bird squawks, a cat yowls. Kageyama smiles. There are probably at least a dozen battles by the garbage dump taking place here every day. Some battles are so easy to come by, to win, to lose, to pick yourself back up and to hurl yourself into another. Others, not so much.

Kageyama contemplates taking his headphones out from his bag once at the bus stop, but decides against it because it’s so quiet. He can only have so many quiet moments in a day what with Hinata screeching incomprehensible sounds into his ear every two seconds. He adjusts the strap of his messenger bag, feels against the plasticky material for the round shape of his volleyball, and glances at his watch. 5:38. Ten minutes until the bus will come trundling down the road. He inhales, smells fresh miso and green tea,and exhales. He glances at his watch. Still 5:38. He lowers his gaze to the ground, where the yellow streetlamp is highlighting the cracks in the cement, and his hand moves unconsciously to his bag to feel for his volleyball again.

There’s movement from across the street. Kageyama takes a peek at his watch again (5:39) before looking up. Next to the southbound bus stop is Oikawa-san, clad in his teal-and-white Aoba Johsai track uniform, knee pad and brace visible underneath his shorts, voluminous brown hair styled to perfection. It’s Oikawa-san, and Kageyama’s breath hitches. The smell of fresh miso and green tea floods out of his nose, and the yellow streetlight turns its focus away from the cracked concrete to Oikawa-san’s sneakers and Oikawa-san’s hands and Oikawa-san’s jawline and Oikawa-san and Oikawa-san and _Oikawa-san_.

Shit.

Kageyama shrinks into the shadows in his bus stop. He hasn’t seen Oikawa-san since Spring High, when Kageyama and his teammates had been down on their knees trying to save that last point and Oikawa-san had towered above them in victory. Oikawa-san hadn’t even gloated then, hadn’t laughed or called him _Tobio-chan_.

Kageyama had been scared of Oikawa-san in that moment, because it was then that he saw the gulf between them was still impossibly wide. That Seijoh match…Kageyama had looked forward to playing Oikawa-san for the first time, had looked forward to meeting his eyes across the court in the thrill of anticipating a challenge. And as the game wore on, after Kageyama had panicked and his teammates had lifted him back up again, he’d really thought he and Oikawa-san – Karasuno and Aoba Johsai – could play on equal ground. But in the end, Kageyama couldn’t meet Oikawa-san’s eyes. All he saw was his feet, squeaking on the sweat-soaked floor of the court as he turned his back on Kageyama to throw himself into his team’s embrace.

Kageyama had thought about his own team then, and the teammates he’d wanted to embrace. He’d wanted to lift Hinata up and pull him close, Hinata who had been sprawled on the ground crying. He’d wanted to apologize to Suga-san, Suga-san who had given Kageyama his position as regular setter to ensure Karasuno’s victory. And Kageyama was part of a team, but Oikawa-san had won because Oikawa-san _was_ the team. Oikawa-san who was better at reading people, better at amplifying his players’ strengths, better at adapting to their weaknesses. Oikawa-san won, and Kageyama lost. And the fact that they both knew these two pure and simple pieces of truth had terrified him.

From the way his heart is thudding too fast in his chest, Kageyama figures he’s still scared of Oikawa-san now.

The streetlamp’s yellow spotlight is still trained on Oikawa-san, and judging from his upturned nose and the scowl on his face, Oikawa-san now knows that Kageyama is standing on the other side of the road. He’s texting someone furiously. Probably Iwaizumi-san, Kageyama thinks. He can imagine what kind of text messages Iwaizumi-san is getting right now: _iwa-chan!!!!! you’ll never believe who is at my bus stop! stupid tobio-chan! stupid stupid tobio-chan! iwa-chan! are you not listening to me??? how can tobio-chan be such an idiot to come to MY bus stop? does he not know i don’t want to see him?? iwa-chaaaan!_

He huffs a laugh. It’s just a little puff of a chuckle, but in the stillness of the early morning, even a puff is a boom. Oikawa-san must have heard it, because he stiffens, and angles his back slightly more towards Kageyama. Kageyama’s known Oikawa-san long enough to expect that reaction, known him long enough to expect that kind of pettiness and undisguised show of dislike. But still, the thousandth rejection still hurts as much as the first.

A curling of the lip, a shaking off of fists. _No, not gonna! Stupid!_

A bus’s engine rumbles in the distance, and before long, the number seven appears at the top of the slope. Kageyama glances at his watch. 5:47. Slightly early. He reaches into his bag, brushing his hand over his volleyball before taking out his wallet. The bus’s doors hiss open, and Kageyama steps on, mumbles an “Ohayou” to the driver and drops his change into the ticket dispenser. He makes his way to the back and plonks down in a window seat. Outside, Oikawa-san has put his phone away, and is glaring in Kageyama’s direction with his arms crossed. Just as the bus begins to move away, Kageyama catches Oikawa-san’s eye and Oikawa-san pulls a face at him. Kageyama just stares. He wonders what bus Oikawa-san takes to get to school and if Oikawa-san comes to the bus stop at this time every morning.

                                                                                                               

“Oi, Bakageyama!”

A spoonful of rice lands on his face. Kageyama reaches up in annoyance, scrapes the grains off his cheeks, and flings them back at Hinata.

“What, idiot?”

“Your tosses this morning were shoddy as hell, Kageyama-kun. We didn’t get a single quick in. My palm isn’t hurting at all because I couldn’t even hit the ball once.”

Kageyama blanches. Were they really that bad this morning? Why hadn’t the captain said anything? He looks down at Hinata’s hands, usually still red from spiking the ball with full force. They are as pale and unremarkable as any non-volleyball player’s.

_A good setter brings out the maximum potential in each of their players. That’s why Oikawa is such a brilliant setter._

Kageyama winces. “Sorry,” he tells Hinata. “I’ll be better this afternoon.”

A beat of silence, then two. Kageyama looks up to see that Hinata’s eyes are as big and round as saucers.

“ _What_ , idiot?”

Hinata’s still staring at him strangely. “You never apologize. Is there something wrong? There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Kageyama picks up an onigiri, turns it over a couple times. He isn’t sure if he should tell Hinata that he saw Oikawa-san at the bus stop today and that his heart wouldn’t slow down. Hinata is Kageyama’s first friend, and he doesn’t know if this is something friends do; do friends trade pointless stories about who they see on the way to school?

“Oi,” Hinata’s voice, tinged with disapproval, jars Kageyama out of his pondering. “You’re turning the onigiri into mush. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

Wordlessly, Kageyama hands over his mushy onigiri to Hinata. Hinata takes a bite out of it and makes a face.

“Honestly. This is even worse than the grilled ones Natsu made last night. Did I tell you how awful they were?”

Kageyama shakes his head, and Hinata brightens.

“Yeah, they were _abysmal_. She’d read the time you’re supposed to grill them for wrong, and she didn’t…”

Kageyama leans back on the step above the one he’s sitting on, letting Hinata rant on about how Natsu didn’t even cook the rice proper. Kageyama likes listening to Hinata tell stories about Natsu, because Hinata’s voice always becomes fond and his smile always becomes soft. And it’s a different Hinata than the one Kageyama’s used to, the competitive one, the one who charges along next to him when they’re cleaning the gym floor, the one that Kageyama doesn’t think he can survive without. But this Hinata, older brother Hinata, is a Hinata that

Kageyama doesn’t get to see most of the time.

“…they came out brown, Kageyama! Like 99% bitter chocolate brown! Can you imagine eating 99% bitter chocolate onigiri?!”

Hinata’s still talking, still smiling, and the loneliness from Kageyama’s middle school days are so far away.

                                                                                                               
Kageyama is _not_ better this afternoon. It only takes Nishinoya mentioning how Kageyama’s jump serves are becoming scarily like Oikawa-san’s to send Kageyama’s mind tumbling back into memory lane and how Oikawa-san had blatantly turned his back towards him this morning. In middle school, Kageyama had only watched Oikawa-san’s serves from afar, because Oikawa-san had never let him close.

Distance learning, he thinks to himself wryly.

And it had still happened even after Oikawa-san had left for Aoba Johsai, after Kageyama had tried to carve out a path for himself in Kitaichi. He’d find himself looking up the prefectural game roster online and going to Seijou’s matches, eyes always drawn to the figure he’d observed and observed over and over again.

He tosses to Asahi. He nearly misses.

“Tch,” he hisses, angry at himself. He should know how Asahi likes his tosses by now, should be able to give Asahi the best toss he can to bring out the best in his ace. _A good setter brings out the maximum potential in each of their players. That’s why –_

Shut up, he tells his mind. “I’m sorry,” he tells Asahi. “Can we try again?”

Asahi scratches at his nose and apologizes right back.

“Don’t apologize. It was my fault,” Kageyama says, frustrated. “One more time?”

“Kageyama!” It’s Suga-san from the other side of the court, silver hair shining bright from sweat and the gym’s fluorescent lights. He lifts his hands, mimicking a tossing motion. “Just a little higher, and a little more to the right.”

Kageyama bows. “Thank you, Suga-san!”

As he gives Asahi the set he should have given him the first time, Kageyama thinks about how grateful he is to have Suga-san as a senpai. Suga-san never tells Kageyama to not be so hard on himself, never coddles him like everyone does Hinata, because technically, Kageyama and Suga-san are still competitors for the same starting setter position. But Suga-san always gives Kageyama advice freely, always makes Kageyama work hard, and is always genuine and kind and strong. (Unlike, he thinks unbiddingly, his other senpai). And now Suga-san’s tossing to Hinata. It’s not as fast as a toss Kageyama can feed his friend, but the sound of Hinata’s spike is hefty, and Kageyama knows that he’s making Suga-san work just as hard, too.

Later in the evening, Hinata takes off on his bike, homeward bound, and the rest of the team disappears into the smaller residential streets, and Kageyama’s again alone at a bus stop. It’s strange, because before he moved, he’d rarely had to go home by himself in the quiet of the settling night; Nishinoya had lived two streets down, and would always spend the time walking, chattering about this cute-but-not-as-cute-as-Kiyoko-san girl he liked, or about stupid Satou-sensei giving him detention for being too loud in class.

The bus arrives before Kageyama has the chance to pull out his headphones, but now, sitting at the back with only a snoozing businessman for company, he puts them on and listens to the 70’s jazz his mother likes: Freddie Hubbard, Casiopea, Seaside Lovers…

He gets off a stop early to drop by the convenience store for ramen. The storekeeper is chatty and Kageyama listens to her ramble about the one weird encounter with a customer she’d had today, soaking in the warmth of company. As he walks home, he passes by the stop where Oikawa-san had waited for the bus this morning and inadvertently glances at it just to check…

… _is he…?_

 _Tomorrow, maybe_.


	2. Cats

 

It’s raining.

The damp smell of the house follows Kageyama as he shuffles to the kitchen in the dark. He drinks a box of milk, wolfs down a bowl of rice, and leaves food for the cats in that chipped blue porcelain plate he’d found under the bushes outside his house his first day in Osato. Today, he shoves the plate further into the bushes. His mother disapproves of him feeding the cats, but it wasn’t as if Kageyama was letting them into the house. The ginger and white one, which he has been secretly calling Michiko, meows at him. He bends down, extending his hand, but Michiko instantly turns away from him, huffing. Kageyama smiles, a little rueful. He’s used to being rebuffed.

It begins pouring as soon as he stands up to leave. Kageyama doesn’t have an umbrella, and he doesn’t have enough time to go back home to find one anyway, not if he wants to be at the bus stop the same time as yesterday. His volleyball jacket should do the trick, though…

Within seconds, he’s soaked; his jacket is plastered against his skin, and he accidentally steps into a puddle more than a few times. With the rain, he can’t turn on his flashlight app, and curses at the sun for not rising earlier, at the lack of streetlights, and at the stupid, _stupid_ rain. He hopes that his extra set of gym clothes is in his locker at school.

Left turn, right turn, and then right again. And then Kageyama’s rounding the final corner to the bus stop. _Is Oikawa-san going to be there today_?

He slips on a wet tile. His heart gives a jolt. He exhales and adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and allows his fingers to skim across the shape of the volleyball straining against the fabric.

The smell of miso and green tea wafts under his nose. His heart doesn’t slow down.

There are two figures today under the yellow streetlight looming over the bus stop opposite Kageyama’s. The first one – his heart gives another jolt – is Oikawa-san. The second figure is Iwaizumi-san, holding an umbrella over the both of them and wearing a fearsome scowl on his face. Kageyama thinks he should have realized that Iwaizumi-san would live nearby, him and Oikawa-san being childhood friends and all that.

Kageyama had always wanted a friend like Iwaizumi-san in Kitaichi. Someone he could trade jokes and insults with and maybe invite over to his house to play some volleyball over the weekend. He’d tried asking Kindaichi if he wanted to come over, once, but Kindaichi had looked constipated and said his mother was making him go shopping with her on Saturday. Iwaizumi-san had always been courteous and fair to Kageyama, and maybe, if Kageyama had asked _him_ , he wouldn’t have said no. Kageyama wishes it was Iwaizumi-san he’d looked up to in middle school instead of Oikawa-san. It would have been a lot easier to get Iwaizumi-san to teach him how to serve.

Well, he thinks, as Iwaizumi-san waves at him through the many sheets of rain, he did look up to Iwaizumi-san. But it was different; while Iwaizumi-san was a stunning ace, he didn’t play setter, didn’t set better than Kageyama did. Kageyama doesn’t look at Iwaizumi-san and feel like his chest is going to burst.

He waves back at Iwaizumi-san, slightly hesitant, and wonders if he should smile. Iwaizumi-san turns to say something to Oikawa-san, and then Oikawa-san says, his voice loud and a bit obnoxious, as usual, “No way, Iwa-chan! No way am I going over to share a bus stop with Tobio-chan. I don’t want to get cooties. That’s gross.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, grins, and bounds over to Kageyama –

“Iwa-chan!”

– still holding the umbrella.

Oikawa-san squawks, and dashes underneath the shelter of the bus stop, hands running rapidly through his hair.

“That’s mean, Iwa-chan! I got up at four today to make it look perfect!”

Iwaizumi-san snaps his umbrella closed, shakes the water from it, and yells right back, “It looks perfect now, Assikawa. The shitty hair really suits your shitty personality!”

“My hair does not always reflect my personality, Iwa-chan, which remains perpetually wonderful, thank you very much! Yours does, however. Stingy hair, same as stingy Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi-san sends Oikawa-san a nasty look. There are a couple seconds of silence before he shoots Kageyama a smile.

“Hey there, Kageyama, I’ve never seen you around here before.”

Iwaizumi-san’s voice is warm but uncertain, like he’s trying not to spook a baby animal. And Kageyama is reminded that he likes Iwaizumi-san a lot.

“Good morning, Iwaizumi-senpai. Yes, I just moved here last week.”

“Oh,” says Iwaizumi-san. “That’s nice.”

They lapse into silence. And then, “So how have you been, Kageyama? Are you alright? You look like a drowned rat.”

“I am fine, Iwaizumi-senpai, thank you,” Kageyama says automatically, picking at his clingy jacket. “And you?”

“Ahhh,” Iwaizumi-san scratches his head, “You really don’t have to call me senpai anymore.”

Kageyama is secretly pleased, “How are you, Iwaizumi-san?”

Iwaizumi-san barks out a laugh, “Oh, I’m fine. Busy with volleyball and, you know, university applications.”

Kageyama wants to know if Iwaizumi-san is going to play volleyball in university, if _Oikawa-san_ is going to play.

“Are you—”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa-san sounds annoyed.

Iwaizumi-san pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a large exhale. He gives Kageyama an apologetic look. “Sorry, Kageyama, it was nice talking to you. We can talk more later if this is going to be your bus stop from now on?”

He opens his umbrella, ducks out of Kageyama’s bus stop, and sprints back over.

Kageyama watches as Iwaizumi-san thumps Oikawa-san’s back hard.

“That was rude, Oikawa.”

Oikawa-san crosses his arms over his chest. His hair looks the same as ever, if a little less poufy. “That wasn’t rude at all, Iwa-chan. I was merely giving him time to get his wallet out before his bus comes. Oh, lookie! Here it comes now!”

And sure enough, the number 7 is rounding over the top of the hill. Kageyama has just enough time to pull out his wallet before the bus’s doors hiss open. He glances up. It’s the same driver as yesterday.

“Ohayou,” he says, dropping change into the ticket dispenser, and makes his way to the back. He looks out the window. Iwaizumi-san is trying to karate-chop Oikawa-san, and Oikawa-san has both his hands up to stop it. But Iwaizumi-san is laughing, and Oikawa-san’s smile is so wide, and Kageyama has never made Oikawa-san smile like that.

                                                                                                             

Hinata drops a box of milk onto Kageyama’s lap, and huffs when Kageyama looks at him weirdly.

“For not making scary faces at practice this morning, dumbass Kageyama.”

Well, Kageyama has to take offence to that.

“None of my faces are scary.” But he pokes the straw into the box and drinks the milk anyway.

“Yeah, right,” Hinata scoffs. He flops down next to Kageyama, stabs his straw into his own juice box – peach juice, Kageyama thinks with distaste – and takes two sips. “But seriously, though, Kageyama, what’s wrong? You looked like you were going to BLEUGHHH the entire day yesterday.”

Kageyama pauses, he had not wanted to BLEUGHHH yesterday. Yesterday, he had wanted to HUUUUUEGH because his heart had all of a sudden wanted to become a hummingbird. He had wanted to BLEUGHHH today, though, on the bus, when he realized that Oikawa-san had always smirked and postured and looked smug in front of Kageyama, but he had never smiled.

Does Hinata want to know that? Kageyama wishes _he_ didn’t know.

But Kageyama remembers how he’d wanted to hear Hinata talk about Natsu yesterday, remembers how he’d always want to hear Hinata talk about Natsu – talk about anything, really, and he remembers how Hinata is his friend now, just like Iwaizumi-san is like Oikawa-san’s friend, and friends were people he could trade jokes and insults with and maybe invite over to his house to play some volleyball over the weekend. Friends were also people he could talk to.

He figures that maybe Hinata wouldn’t mind him telling him about what happened.

“I’ve been seeing Oikawa-san at the bus stop for the past two days.”

Hinata stops in the middle of chewing and stares at Kageyama. “’Heh ‘raan kung?”

Kageyama curls his lip in disgust and chucks his empty milk box at Hinata. “Swallow before you talk, idiot.”

Hinata gives Kageyama a sour look before swallowing. “The Grand King?”

Kageyama swallows, too, even though he has nothing in his mouth. His throat is really dry. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“I’ve been seeing him. At the bus stop. For the past two days.”

Hinata rolls his eyes, and stretches out his legs so they can be warmed by the summer sun. “Yes, Kageyama. I heard you the first time. You didn’t have to break up your sentences; I’m not an imbecile you know – ”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, I am the world’s best decoy. I’m good at fooling people. Especially dumbasses like you.”

Moisture returns to Kageyama’s mouth. He’s partially glad that Hinata’s distracted now. Maybe telling him wasn’t that good of an idea. “You’re not the _world’s best_ decoy. I’ve seen plenty better.”

Hinata waves a hand at Kageyama in a shooing motion, “It really is too bad, then, that the _world’s best_ setter has to set for the world’s not-best decoy.”

“I’m not – ”

“Whatever, Bakageyama. I want to hear about the Grand King. He’s so cool!” Hinata’s eyes sparkle, and Kageyama thinks his eyes probably did the same back in middle school when people talked about Oikawa-san. He swallows again.

“I guess.”

“I guess?” Hinata screeches, and he’s so loud that a couple of students on the other side of the courtyard turn to look at them.

“Have you never seen him serve, Kageyama? He goes BOOM KABAMMM WHOOSH and then the ball’s two hair widths away from you and it’s in and it’s _awesome_.”

Yes, Kageyama has seen Oikawa-san serve. Kageyama has seen Oikawa-san serve more times than he can count.

“So?” Hinata sucks at his juice box hard. Air rattles through the straw. “Did you talk to the Grand King, then? Didn’t you say you learned from him? Maybe you could learn some more!” He pauses. “I take my previous statement back. You’re not the world’s best setter. He’s definitely better than you.”

 _You think I don’t know that?_ Kageyama wants to ask. But doesn’t. Oikawa-san probably isn’t objectively the world’s best setter, but he is right now, to Kageyama. The best in the prefecture, at least, which is about as big as Kageyama’s world gets. Oikawa-san is the best setter in Kageyama’s world and Kageyama wants to beat him.

“I didn’t talk to him.”

“Okay,” Hinata says, shrugging, turning his attention back to his lunch.

Kageyama frowns, “Should I?”

Hinata chokes on his last bite of rice. Kageyama thumps him on his back.

And then Hinata is laughing and Kageyama is frowning and maybe he has said something wrong. He withdraws his hand.

It’s a full minute before Hinata stops, only to get out “God, Kageyama, you sound like a teenager with a crush!” before chortling again.

Kageyama scowls, “Look, dumbass – ”

Hinata is wheezing, and is looking like he’s struggling to fill his lungs with air. “A teenager with a crush!” he repeats, “Which I suppose you are. Should you, Kageyama-kun? I dunno. Do you want to?”

Kageyama looks at Hinata’s face, strawberry red from laughing so hard, thinks about how different it is from Oikawa-san’s unsmiling one, and hunches his back.

“No, not really.”

                                                                                                             

It’s fitness day today, and Kageyama feels slightly deprived. He alternates between itching to touch the ball and trying to wipe Hinata’s smug grin off his face. Hinata always does sickeningly well on fitness days, not breaking a sweat even after a hundred burpees. He’s currently bouncing on the balls of his feet, crowing, “I could do fifty more! Bring it on, coach!”

Kageyama has no energy left to go punch Hinata in the face to shut him up. His thighs are so sore. His knees, even with kneepads on, are painful to touch. And he has a splitting headache. But luckily, Tanaka kicks Hinata in the shins and says, “What Hinata means, coach, is bring on the pork buns! Man, I’m so hungry that even I can eat fifty! Right, Kageyama?”

Kageyama massages his temples, “I don’t think I can – ”

Tanaka points a finger at him. “This is a team gathering, Kageyama. You have to come. Your senpai orders you to come.”

These are the times Kageyama really, _really_ hates the word “senpai”.

Coach Ukai, funnily enough, seems to support the notion of a team gathering. “I don’t have that many plain pork buns to feed the entire team, Tanaka, but I do have some curry pork buns, if some of you guys don’t mind eating those.”

Kageyama’s kind of sold.

By this time, Hinata has successfully recovered from Tanaka’s shin kick and makes his way to Kageyama’s side.

“Hey Kageyama,” Hinata whispers snidely, “Maybe if you gave the Grand King a pork bun he’ll come talk to you!”

 “Oikawa-san likes milk bread, not pork buns, dumbass Hinata. Did you not read the article in _Volleyball Monthly_?”

“Yeah,” Hinata says, poking at one of Kageyama’s bruises on his wrist. Kageyama jerks his hand away. “But who remembers what the Grand King likes? That article was printed in fine print on, like, the very last page. The article on Yuki Ishikawa is much more interesting. He’s the top ace of the country, next to Ushijima!”

“I remember,” Kageyama says, slightly resentful. The article wasn’t in fine print, and if Hinata’d read carefully enough and used a portion of his pea-sized brain, he’d remember, too.

“Oh, do you now?” It’s Tsukishima, standing a couple feet away with Yamaguchi. He looks bored, but his eyes are glinting with a little something behind his glasses, and his drawl sounds almost _amused_. Kageyama guesses Tsukishima is actually interested in this conversation, like he’s actually interested in volleyball. He wishes that Tsukishima wasn’t really interested right now.

“I remember everything.” Kageyama tries to sound lofty.

“Do you now?” Tsukishima says again. He’s picking at his fingernails, but he’s looking at Kageyama like a cat going for the canary, “You definitely did not remember what the kanji was for “complex” in class today.”

A giggle escapes from Hinata’s mouth. Kageyama glares at him.

“Fuck off, Tsukishima,” Kageyama growls.

Hinata giggles again, “Oh, Kageyama. I forgot.”

“What!?” He can’t believe that everyone is kicking up all this fuss just because he remembered that Oikawa-san liked milk bread.

“I can’t eat lunch with you tomorrow. I have to do a make-up test for Irisawa-sensei.”

“What?” Tsukishima asks, “we’re just heading into exam season.”

Hinata’s laugh is tinged with nervousness this time. “Yeah, ahaha, well. I failed the make-up test from spring break, so this is kind of a make-up test for a make-up test for a test last semester.”

Tsukishima is looking at Hinata like he’s a cockroach he’d like to crush with his feet. “I’ve met jellyfish smarter than you, and jellyfish don’t have brains at all.”

“Don’t let the captain know,” Kageyama warns.

“I won’t.” And Hinata looks so ashamed that Kageyama almost forgives him for making fun of him with Tsukishima.

                                                                                                             

The rain has long since stopped by the time Kageyama gets home. He fries himself some fish, but burns it by accident. The fish tastes gross and sticky in his mouth, so he gives up and decides to feed it to the cats outside. The food he’d put out this morning is no longer under the bushes by his front gate. His mother must have moved it, even though he’d gone out of his way to make sure she wouldn’t be able to spot it. It takes quite a bit of time for him to find it, as his mother had shoved it underneath the neighbouring bushes, and it also takes quite a bit of time for Kageyama to realize that the dish is already filled with food. Dry food.

_Did someone…?_

Kageyama shakes his head. It must have been his mother. She did say that she had off this afternoon. Maybe she’d given in to Michiko’s cute face. His mother usually gives in. He smiles.

He brings the fish back into the house and puts it in the fridge to save it for tomorrow. He tries to finish the maths assignment that he conveniently forgot to do yesterday, but can only get through half of it before his head hurt too much and his hands are reaching for the volleyball that he’d brought to school but didn’t get to use at all today.

He leaves his maths homework on his desk, wanders downstairs to take some medication for his headache, and then lies on his bed, tossing his volleyball absently at the ceiling.

He thinks about what Hinata had said today, that if he got Oikawa-san milk buns Oikawa-san would actually talk to him. But then Hinata also has to do a make-up test for a make-up test tomorrow, and can Kageyama trust any of Hinata’s advice?

Kageyama sighs, glum. He doesn’t think so.


	3. Cough Drop

He can hear the rain banging on his door. The rain slides the door open. Kageyama blinks. It’s not the rain.

“Tobio,” his mother shakes him, voice soft, “wake up. You’ll be late for practice.”

“Mum?” He mutters groggily. He tries hard to smell her usual Elizabeth Arden Green Tea perfume but can’t. He draws the blankets closer. His bed is so cold. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I have to go to Sendai to see my client. It’s urgent.”

Kageyama struggles to sit up. His back hurts. “Wha – ”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” says his mother, brushing his fringe away from his forehead. “Come on, get up. I’ve made rice and omelette. Did you want milk?”

Kageyama wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he knows that if he tells his mother he’s sick, she’d skip work to look after him, and he doesn’t want that either. He also doesn’t want to miss practice.

So he tells her, after clearing his throat violently a couple times, that no, he’ll have orange juice please. He doesn’t think he can stomach the dairy.

It takes him ten more minutes before he can drag himself out of bed and go downstairs. His mother is in the genkan, getting ready to leave the house.

“Ow,” she says.

“What’s wrong?” Kageyama asks. His voice is harsh and hoarse. He clears his throat again.

“I stabbed my ear with my earring!”

Kageyama rolls his eyes, and shuffles over to turn on the lights.

“Thanks, Tobio,” she inspects herself in the small mirror perched on the shoe cabinet and then turns to him, pointing at the yellow umbrella leaning by the door. “Take that with you. Your volleyball jacket isn’t going to do the trick today.”

Then she opens her umbrella and dashes out. The sound of rain drenches the apartment, and then the door slams shut.

Kageyama turns off the light again and suppresses a shiver. He peers at the stuff his mother had laid out on the table. Rice, omelette, miso soup, orange juice. He takes two bites of the rice and his body complains. He can’t- he can’t eat all of this.

The front door slides open again, and a gust of wind accompanies his mother in. She’s toeing off her shoes and she’s dripping wet.

“I forgot my mascara.”

Apparently, mascara is needed for urgent meetings in Sendai at six in the morning, when everyone’s eyes are heavy enough already. Kageyama shrugs. He doesn’t think his mother needs mascara, but if she thinks she needs it, then she needs it.

He sips his orange juice. The acid washes down his throat and twists his stomach into knots. He yanks open the fridge and shoves his glass inside, along with the rest of his food.

                                                                                                              

He doesn’t expect Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san at the bus stop today, since he is late. But they’re standing inside their bus stop, in their school uniform, and Iwaizumi-san is holding the umbrella from yesterday. The hem of Oikawa-san’s yellow-and-brown-checkered trousers are wet and muddy. His hair is falling into his face. Kageyama’s surprised he isn’t whining about it.

Iwaizumi-san is waving at him, his hair is amazingly still as spikey as usual, and Kageyama doesn’t think he uses half the amount of product Oikawa-san does. “Hey, Kageyama! I didn’t expect to see you here today. Does Karasuno have the day off as well?”

Kageyama tries to reply. He coughs, opens his mouth, but no words come out. Iwaizumi-san frowns at him, and Kageyama moves across the road. His shoes are soaked.

“You alright, Kageyama?” asks Iwaizumi-san. Oikawa-san runs a hand through his hair and gives Kageyama a disdainful look.

“Yeah,” Kageyama croaks. “And Karasuno does have practice today, I’m just late.”

“Late?” Oikawa-san sniffs. “How irresponsible, Tobio-chan.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi-san hisses, “Look at him. He can barely keep himself on his feet. Do you think he can really toss to anyone?”

Oikawa-san bends down to pick at a flake of dried mud on his right knee. “No excuses. I always went to practice when I was sick.”

And Kageyama wants to say that he knows it’s no excuse, but his voice is totally gone and he really wants to sneeze. His body doesn’t let him though; all he can do is bend over and hack out a cough.

“Kageyama?” Iwaizumi’s voice is worried. A hand ghosts across his back. “Are you sure you should be going to school today?”

Probably not. But Kageyama _wants_ to go to school, wants to be surrounded by people. There’s a girl in his class, her and her boyfriend, who are beginning to talk to him during recess, and Takefuji had even laughed at something Kageyama had said yesterday. He doesn’t want to miss that and lie in his cold bed alone, waiting for his mother to come home.

Kageyama straightens up. “I’m fine,” he whispers. He stares out at the pouring rain. It’s almost seven, but the yellow streetlamp is still on because the sky is so saturated with dark rain clouds. He wonders if his mother has arrived in Sendai yet, if she’d had time to coat her eyelashes with thick mascara because otherwise she feared that no one would take her seriously.

There’s a rustling on his side. Oikawa-san is digging through his bag. He pulls out a packet of pocket tissues and dangles it in front of Kageyama, looking as though he’d smelled something putrid.

Kageyama gapes.

Oikawa-san shakes the packet. “You’ve got snot dripping down your nose, Tobio-chan. Save us from this hideous sight. You look ugly enough without it.”

Kageyama reaches for the tissues skeptically.

Oikawa-san crosses his arms, “Consider it a debt repaid, Tobio-chan, since you also gave me a tissue in the ninth grade.” And then he lets out a yelp, because Iwaizumi-san had apparently stepped on his foot.

“Trust you to keep grudges for three damn years, Shittykawa.”

“That _hurt_ , Iwa-chan! It only goes for grudges against Tobio-chan!”

Kageyama can hear the pout in Oikawa-san’s voice. He takes a tissue out of the pack and hands the rest back to Oikawa-san. Oikawa-san bats it away.

“Nope! Not taking it! Not taking any cooties!”

Iwaizumi-san heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Honestly,” he says, “How old are you, five?”

Oikawa-san says nothing.

Iwaizumi-san sighs again, then turns to Kageyama and starts talking about the Japan Women’s Nationals, about that monster kill Yoshimoto made in the middle of the fourth set. By the time Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san’s bus comes, bright headlights squinting through rain, Kageyama’s forgotten about his wet feet and the cold seeping through his clothes.

He’s mostly forgotten about the burning at the back of his throat, too, until Oikawa-san thrusts something at him as he boards the bus.

A cough drop.

On his way to school, Kageyama pops the candy into his mouth and swirls it around. The honey-lemon flavour diffuses warmth across his tongue and reaches all the way down to his toes.

                                                                                                              

The rain has stopped again by lunchtime. The sun peers out from behind the clouds and speckles the courtyard with light. Kageyama didn’t bring lunch with him today, but he feels well enough to buy a box of milk from the vending machine.

He glances at the steps where him and Hinata usually hang out. The concrete is still wet, and Hinata’s writing his test, so there’s no much point in Kageyama sitting there by himself. He wonders how Hinata’s doing.

As Kageyama makes his way back to the classroom, he passes by Suga and Daichi and the captain of the women’s team sitting in a circle near the gym. Kageyama’s never talked to Michimiya Yui before, but she’s giving him a sunny smile and a friendly wave, and he’s drawn in like a moth to the light.

Daichi is also smiling. “Hey, Kageyama. Is Hinata not with you today?” He scooches closer to Michimiya Yui and pats the space he’s left open.

Daichi’s gesture gives Kageyama a similar pleasant feeling to what he’d felt when Oikawa-san gave him the cough drop. He can still taste the honey-lemon flavour at the back of his mouth, and his pulse picks up just a bit.

Kageyama takes the seat between Daichi and Suga, and remembering Daichi’s question, says, “No. Not today.”

Daichi blinks. Then his smile turns into a threatening leer. “Hinata wouldn’t be writing a make-up test, would he?”

Kageyama tries to remain as calm as he can. “No,” he says. It isn’t a lie because Hinata’s writing a make-up of a make-up.

“Oh,” Daichi leer morphs back into a grin, “well, that’s relieving to hear.”

Michimiya Yui turns from Daichi to look at Kageyama. Kageyama thinks Michimiya Yui is kind of beautiful. Sparkling eyes, close-cropped hair, confident stare. He’d seen her on the court, too. Michimiya Yui looks like his mother did when she was sixteen, in that grainy photo of her and her friends from the late 80s.

“Kageyama, right?” asks Michimiya Yui, voice cheerful, “You’re brilliant on the court! I watched your last game. Good job getting back up, too. I know the stakes were high.”

Kageyama can feel a blush coming on. He wants to duck his head and not look at Michimiya Yui and her kind face. He wants to tell her that the stakes are still high, that the image of Oikawa-san towering above him after they lost the match is constantly on his mind. He wants to tell her all these things, but even though Michimiya Yui may be kind, she is still not Kageyama’s friend, so in the end, he just meets her excited gaze and says, “Thanks.”

Daichi slaps him on the back. Kageyama winces. “Our kouhai here puts a lot of effort into our favourite sport.”

“Well,” Michimiya Yui says, cracking open a can of Coke and taking a few gulps before continuing, “so do you. So do all of us. We work hard. Then we work even harder.”

Daichi shoots Michimiya Yui a fond look, “That’s right.”

Suga laughs. “Indeed!” He picks up Kageyama’s box of milk. “Is this all you’re having for lunch, Kageyama?”

Kageyama had forgotten about his milk. “I’m not hungry.”

Suga reaches around him and tosses Kageyama a blue energy drink. “At least have this, then. Otherwise, you won’t have strength for practice.”

                                                                                                              

Practice is going well. Kageyama’s quicks with Hinata are the same as usual: Hinata jumps up and Kageyama delivers the ball to him. The slap of Hinata’s hand on the ball and the way the ball roars its way across the court are satisfying, and while Hinata’s accuracy could be better, Kageyama cannot help but feel immensely warm when he watches his friend spike with his eyes closed, his trust in Kageyama unwavering and absolute. _A friend_.

Kageyama thinks Hinata’s test went well, because he’s zooming around and yelling and is his usual bubbly self. But then again, Hinata’s never bothered with caring whether he did well or not. Kageyama might ask him about it later.

On the other side of the net, Suga’s setting to Tsukishima. Kageyama pauses to watch. The toss is a little too high, a little too slow, and Tsukishima has to stumble to reach it.

“Suga-san, faste – ”

He stops himself before he can finish that dreaded word. Suga and Tsukishima have stopped mid-set to stare at him. Tsukishima has his eyebrows raised, a bored expression painted on his face. Kunimi used to have the same bored look, and Kindaichi had always looked annoyed. He had looked annoyed until he didn’t. Until he didn’t have to anymore.

“You were saying, King?” asks Tsukishima. He says it in that disinterested drone of his. There’s no emphasis on the word “king”, but Kageyama feels as if the bottom of his stomach has just disappeared. Everything is collapsing. There’s a _thud thud thud_ echoing in his ears, and Kunimi had looked bored and Kindaichi had looked annoyed until Kageyama’d said, “Faster! Faster!”, and Kindaichi’s calling for “Right side!” and Kageyama’s tossing and the _thud thud thud_ of the ball on the empty court and there’s no one there. _Thud thud thud_ and the teal and white on the other side of the chasm is still impossibly, impossibly out of reach.

 _Thud thud thud_.

“Kageyama,” Suga’s voice is in his ear, and a hand slides around his bicep to hold him up. “Are you alright? You’re as white as a sheet!”

Kageyama blinks. His vision refocuses. The hand gripping his arm is Tsukishima’s, and Suga and Hinata are in front of him.

“Is he okay, Suga-san?” Hinata asks. He sounds worried.

“Kageyama,” Suga says again, glancing at Tsukishima, “What were you going to say? The toss was a little slow, wasn’t it?”

_Faster! Faster!_

Tsukishima shakes him. “Oi, I’m not going to hold you up forever, asshole. Get a grip.”

“Do you want to sit down Kageyama?” Hinata pokes him.

Daichi comes over, “What’s wrong?”

“The king is fainting like a damsel in distress,” replies Tsukishima. But his hold on Kageyama tightens. Tsukishima may seem to live for putting him down, and yet, in this moment, Kageyama can feel him pulling him up.

“You should also go sit down for a bit, Kageyama,” Daichi says. “It’s no good pushing your body too hard.”

“No! I can play!” He wants to be on the court as long as he can. He wants to get better as much as he can.

“You can’t play if you’re going to black out. Sit, even for five minutes. Drink some juice.”

Kageyama grits his teeth, willing his dizziness to go away. “Five minutes.”

Tsukishima shakes him a couple more times before letting go. Hinata hovers around to his left. Suga nods at him, encouraging.

“Kageyama,” Suga-san says as he walks him to the side of the gym. “You don’t have to be afraid of telling me what to do, you know? I want to learn from you. I want to get better.”

“Yeah,” Daichi pipes in, slapping Kageyama on his back, “Don’t keep things to yourself. That’s not how a team works.

Kageyama swallows, then says, “Just a bit faster, Suga-san.”

                                                                                                              

His mother is already back from work by the time Kageyama gets home. She’s in the kitchen leaning over the stove and boiling some water when he walks in; her cheeks are flushed pink from the steam.

“Welcome home, Tobio,” she says, “How was school?”

“Okay,” he says, dropping his school bag in the corner. “How was work?”

“Oh,” his mother takes the kettle off the heat. “Not that great. My client is thinking of retracting her accusation.”

Kageyama knows that it wouldn’t be the first time for his mother if her client does drop her complaint and chooses to settle the case out of court. In fact, it’s happened more times than he can count.

“He _dragged her into a hotel room_ and raped her, Tobio.” His mother slams a cup in front of him. Tea slops over the rim, spilling onto the table. “How can the government talk about empowering women and building a society in which women can ‘shine’ when they’re not creating an environment where they feel safe about convicting their rapists?”

Kageyama gets a cloth on the kitchen counter and mops up the spilled tea.

“Thanks,” his mother says, lifting up her own cup so he can get the rest. “I’m too tired to cook, Tobio. Let’s go out to eat.”

Kageyama’s too tired to go out. But dark circles bruise his mother’s eyes, and her face is overcrowded by defeat, and he can’t say no.

                                                                                                              

They go to a ramen place in the next town over. It’s a small place, cozy. Seeped in the smell of shoyu and tonkotsu. Kageyama’s mother reaches over and squeezes his hand.

“I’m definitely going for the tonkotsu.” She sounds happy, excited.

Kageyama squeezes back. “It’s the miso for me.”

And he’s feeling more relaxed than he has in days until his mother sets down her cup of tea, stares intently at something behind him, then says, “Hey Tobio, isn’t that your former captain from Kitaichi?”

Kageyama’s heart freezes, then speeds up double time. He sneaks a glance behind him.

It is. Of course it is.

He focuses all his attention to his right, on the chef pulling at the ramen dough. “Yes,” he says carefully.

“You should go and say ‘hi’! Didn’t you and him – what’s his name? Oikawa-kun, wasn’t it –  get along quite well?”

“Quite well” isn’t exactly the way Kageyama would describe how him and Oikawa-san got along.

“Not really,” he mumbles. Out of the corner of his eye, Kageyama can see Oikawa-san laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s on a date, sitting opposite a girl with long, curly hair, and he’s dressed nicely, in a navy V-neck t-shirt paired with khaki pants. He turns back to the chef on the right again, who’s finished stretching out the noodles and is dunking them into a pot. Steam hisses up.

“Not really?” his mother repeats, “Go and say ‘hi’. You were former teammates and all.”

“No,” Kageyama says. He picks up the menu. “Let’s order food.” He might be socially inept, as Hinata calls him, but even he knows enough that people don’t usually like to be interrupted on a date.

“Tobio,” his mother takes the menu away. “Don’t be rude. Oikawa-kun will be glad to see you.”

Then Kageyama remembers that he’d never told her about the day Oikawa-san had nearly hit him for asking him to teach Kageyama to serve one too many times, and that she hadn’t been in court the day the ball went _thud thud thudding_ behind him. He doesn’t want to get into that now.

“Go on,” she says, and Kageyama can hear the tinge of hopefulness behind those words. His chest tightens. He sighs, and stands up.

Storm clouds gather on Oikawa-san’s face when he sees Kageyama making his way towards him.

“Hello, Oikawa-san.”

“Tobio-chan. What a pleasure.”

Oikawa-san’s girlfriend is watching Kageyama curiously. Oikawa-san’s lips are pursed in annoyance. They’re both waiting for him to speak, but Kageyama doesn’t know what to say.

A second goes by. Then two. Kageyama’s looking at Oikawa-san looking back at him.

“Oikawa-san, will you – ”

“No,” Oikawa-san turns away.

“I wasn’t – ”

“No, I will not teach you how to serve!”

“Please,” Kageyama glances back at his mother, who’s nodding at him encouragingly. “Please pretend that you’re in a conversation with me.”

Oikawa-san sniffs, “I’m on a _date_ , Tobio-chan. And now you’ve – ”

“Tobio, is it?” Oikawa-san’s date cuts in. There’s understanding in her tone. “Are you – ”

Kageyama can’t stand it anymore. There’s a buzzing noise at the back of his head, and it feels like everything is going to collapse all over again.

Kageyama gives them both a bow. “Pardon my intrusion,” he says, and rushes away, cheeks burning.

“Oikawa-san is doing quite well,” Kageyama says when he gets back to his table. Their food has arrived, but he doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

“Oh,” his mother beams. “That’s nice to know. They were quite good captains, weren’t they, him and his best friend…?” She trails off.

“Iwaizumi-senpai,” Kageyama supplies dully.

“You were a lot happier in Kitaichi when they were around.”

“Was I?” Kageyama mutters, dragging out a chopsticks-ful of ramen and letting it slip back into the bowl. “I hadn’t noticed.” Oikawa-san is definitely a lot happier without Kageyama hanging off his sleeve. His throat hurts, and he wishes he could have another one of those honey-lemon cough drops.

Oikawa-san is chattering away, his expression cheerful. He’s still turned away from Kageyama, though, and Kageyama can see the edges of Oikawa-san’s cheery façade fraying away.

                                                                                                              

The cats’ food dish is full when they get home. But Kageyama gives them some more and stays outside trying to coax Michiko to come closer for an hour.

Kageyama’s mother lets him.

                                                                                                              

Oikawa-san is waiting for him at his bus stop the next day. Just Oikawa-san; Iwaizumi-san is nowhere to be seen. Kageyama doesn’t want to talk to Oikawa-san, but he can’t not apologize for interrupting the date last night, so he steels himself and opens his mouth.

Oikawa-san beats him to it. “You’d better be sorry for disrupting my date, Tobio-chan. Shizuka-chan kept asking about you all night. And _I_ had to talk about you all night. On _my_ date. How rude!”

“I’m sorry, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa-san sniffs, “Well, you should be! Shizuka-chan got very interested in what you were like in middle school.” He continues on, waving his hands in gestures of irritation as he speaks. Kageyama looks at the ground. The yellow streetlamp is highlighting the cracks in the cement again, and Kageyama smiles at the memory of Hinata telling Ushijima to watch out for those who sprouted from the concrete. Kageyama thinks Oikawa-san is also a concrete-seedling, who had started from nothing and had to work so hard to grow.

“ – Tobio-chan? Earth to Tobio?” Oikawa-san is jabbing him at the shoulder. “You better be listening. It’s bad manners to zone out of a conversation, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Oikawa-san.” Kageyama coughs.

“Honestly, Tobio-chan.” Oikawa-san digs around his bag and takes out a cough drop, pushing it into Kageyama’s hand. Oikawa-san’s touch burns. “You’ve got to get better. Your cough makes you a hundred times more annoying.”

Kageyama stares at the cough drop, stares at where his hand is burning. “Right,” he says, numb, just as Oikawa-san’s bus rounds the corner. It’s early today.

“Well,” Oikawa-san zips up his bag. “Catch you tomorrow, Tobio.” He bounds across the road, brown hair flopping.

Kageyama rolls the cough drop in his palm. He thinks about calling out to Oikawa-san, to tell him that they actually won’t see each other tomorrow because Kageyama will be on the way to Tokyo then. But Oikawa-san’s bus is pulling away and Oikawa-san is pulling a face at Kageyama through the window and Kageyama doesn’t think it would matter if he told Oikawa-san or not.


	4. Quick

Their bus arrives in Tokyo at a little past three. Nekoma stands in the parking lot to greet them, already decked out in their customary red. Their captain, Kuroo, lifts a hand to wave as they pull into the parking lot, blinking lazily in the sunlight like a cat.

Tokyo’s a rush. A surge of excitement. They’re only in the suburbs, and truthfully, it looks no different from Miyagi, but it smells of acuteness and refinement. The gym itself is glistening. The nets aren’t slightly drooping like they do at Karasuno, and there’s enough space to hold two courts. Players are warming up their serves. An ace with a number 4 bib leaps up to do a straight spike, and Kageyama’s hands are itching to play.

“Oi,” he mutters, fully expecting Hinata to be beside him, mouth open in awe and eyes as big and bright as the sun, “Look at that—”

But Hinata’s not beside him. He’s up ahead beside the Nekoma setter, Kenma, heads bent towards each other as they try to hold a conversation above the squeaking of shoes and the _whamming_ of balls.

All of a sudden, it’s like someone’s tied a string around Kageyama’s chest and is winding it tighter and tighter.

He glances around. Everyone’s walking in pairs: Suga-san and Tanaka-san laughing in front of him, Daichi and Kuroo walking in front of them, and Yamaguchi and Tsukishima whispering to each other behind him. And Kageyama and Hinata would have been bickering with each other, too, about who won the race this morning, but Hinata’s up ahead with Kenma, and Kageyama’s alone.

He’s alone when they go dump their bags in their dorms. He’s alone when Kuroo gives them a tour around the facilities. He’s alone when they head back to the gym for their first practice match of the day.

And then he’s not alone, and the string loosens. Hinata’s right next to him, yelling at the Shinzen ace to “BRING IT”. His first receive isn’t the best, but it slows down the ball enough for Kageyama to get under it in time. Then Hinata’s jumping, eyes clenched shut, and Kageyama’s tossing to him, lightning quick, and the ball is on the floor before Shinzen knows it. Hinata flashes a thumbs-up to Kageyama, and Kageyama almost smiles, before remembering that Hinata found it scary.

“Nice kill,” he says instead.

“Nice toss,” Hinata grins.

Tanaka, Asahi, and Daichi come over for a team huddle.

Kageyama can breathe again.

After, though, after they’ve won against Shinzen and lost against Nekoma and Fukurodani twice, and Kageyama’s back in the dorms with the senpais pulling out futons to settle into for the night, Hinata’s gone again.

“Where’s Hinata?” he asks Daichi, who’s ruffling through his duffel for something.

Daichi pauses in the middle of his search. “I think he mentioned something about going to Kenma’s room to play videogames.” He laughs, “Ohh, to be young and still in love with Pokemon Ruby.”

“It’s Pokemon Omega Ruby now, Daichi,” Suga-san pipes in. “Get with the times. Jeez.”

“Is that different?” Daichi asks, scratching his head.

“Not really,” Suga-san says, flopping onto his mattress. “But Omega Ruby definitely sounds cooler than plain old Ruby.” He turns to Kageyama. “Are you going to join them?”

Kageyama shrugs. He just wants to play volleyball with Hinata. Whatever Hinata does outside of practice time means nothing to him.

But it would have been nice if Hinata’d swapped stories with Kageyama as they laid out their futons. It would have been nice to hear a Natsu story, and maybe he’d finally tell Hinata about the Michiko and the other cats.

Hinata’s not here though, so Kageyama has to settle for slipping into his futon as his senpais whisper in the darkness off to his left.

It’s kind of like his first year of middle school again, sitting by himself during camp as Oikawa-san and the others sat around the room talking about girls. Kindaichi had been still talking to Kageyama then, and had asked him if he’d wanted to join. He’d never been interested in girls though, so he had declined.

That year at camp, on their third day there, Oikawa-san had started to get his serve right. Kageyama had sat on the sidelines, watching as he tossed the ball into air, ran up, and then sprang skyward with the ferocity of a jaguar. He’d missed once, missed twice, but on his third try, his serve cannoned over to hit right smack into the empty space the Teika team had left open.

It had been the most beautiful thing Kageyama had ever seen, immeasurably devastating and exquisitely precise, and Oikawa-san, landing on two good knees, sweat dripping from his forehead, hand red from the impact, had been equally as beautiful.

Kageyama had dragged his futon to next to Oikawa-san’s that night, preparing to ask him to teach him how to serve. But Oikawa-san had stopped him.

“What are you doing?” he’d asked, eyeing Kageyama’s futon with an incredulous look on his face.

“O-Oikawa-san,” Kageyama had stuttered, because Oikawa-san had looked so different then, hair damp from the baths. Softer, more approachable. “Can you—”

Oikawa-san had bent down to push Kageyama’s futon away, the white of the sleeping mats increasingly separated by the brown of the floor. “Only Iwa-chan is allowed to sleep here, but the corner is open, Tobio-chan. I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable there.”

Kageyama had nodded. But the corner had not been comfortable at all. It had been nothing but cold.

He opens his eyes. The room is quiet save for Noya-san’s snuffling snores. Hinata’s futon is still empty, and the corner is still cold.

                                                                                                              

The next day, they lose to Nekoma again thrice and Fukurodani twice, and Kageyama, in his spare time, learns the name of Fukurodani’s number 4. His name is Bokuto. He has black hair tipped with white and eyebrows curved like scythes. Bokuto-san has a catchphrase: “Hey! Hey! Hey!” And it gets on Kageyama’s nerves sometimes, but Bokuto-san has just as much energy as Hinata. The same kind – playful, always friendly – and Kageyama feels less alone just by looking at him.

Bokuto-san’s setter is called Akaashi. Kageyama thinks that Akaashi-san’s tosses are like Suga-san’s: selflessly unreserved. They may not bring out all the spiker’s potential, but they try. Akaashi-san and Bokuto-san also have a combo quick. It’s not as fast as Kageyama and Hinata’s, less out-of-the-blue, but it’s stunning all the same.

Kageyama goes for a run after dinner. He’d thought of asking Hinata if he wanted to join, but Hinata was nowhere to be found. It’s twilight, but the sky in Tokyo is nothing like Miyagi’s, more of a hazy rusting colour than a splash of oranges and purples. He wonders how his mother is doing, if she is eating properly instead of going to the convenience store every night. And he wonders about cats. Will they be fine if Kageyama’s not feeding them? Maybe he can tell Hinata about them tonight.

Their quick had been a little different today. There had been a little more hesitation on Hinata’s part, so Kageyama had been forced to change the toss to match his tempo. They’re being blocked a lot more than yesterday. Maybe that’s why Hinata was hesitant. Kageyama will have to tell him to stop being so unsure and just jump. The ball will come to him; Kageyama will always make the ball go to Hinata.

But Hinata’s not there when Kageyama gets back, his futon as empty as the evening before.

Suga-san must have noticed Kageyama staring at Hinata’s space, because he says, from where he is sitting with Daichi, Yachi, and Kiyoko-san, “Hinata’s gone to play Omega Ruby with Kenma.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says. The string from yesterday is back again. It digs into him as he bends to gather his things for the bath. He coughs to try to ease the tightness away.

“Do you want to join us, Kageyama? Shimizu was just telling us about hurdling in middle school.”

Kageyama hadn’t known that Kiyoko-san did track and field, but then again he’d never really spoken to Kiyoko-san. He’d just heard Kiyoko-san being spoken _of_ all the time.

“Come join us, Kageyama,” Daichi grins. “Come hear about Shimizu kicking ass.”

Kiyoko-san pulls a face. “ _I_ didn’t kick his ass, Daichi, he kicked his own because he couldn’t handle the hurdles. His leap was all wrong.” She turns to Kageyama. “This guy in my middle school entered the co-ed hurdles race during our sports meet to impress me. He ended up literally kicking his ass.”

“You’re so cool, Kiyoko-san,” breathes Yachi, brown eyes sparkling. “Hurdles is hard. I tried it last year during my sports meet and all I could do is hop over them at a snail’s pace.”

Kageyama agrees, although he can attribute it to the fact that he is bad at every sport other than volleyball. Which is fine, because he only likes volleyball.

Kiyoko-san’s gaze is far away. “Hurdles was hard, but it was fun. It felt like I was flying.”

_Flying_. Like he had felt every time he does the quick with Hinata.

“Why did you stop?”

Kiyoko-san blinks at Kageyama’s sudden question. Her eyes become blank.

Was it too intrusive?

“Sorry,” he says, face flushing, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh,” Kiyoko-san says, stiff expression melting into a warm smile. “That’s fine.” She points to her shins. “Bone fracture. I didn’t stop until it hurt too much. Now I can’t run competitively anymore.”

“Woah,” Suga-san says, giving a shaky laugh. “That got sad real fast.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoko-san rubs at her shins. “I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to lose. It turns out I lost a lot more because I didn’t.”

Kageyama also lost a lot when he’d steamed ahead, unaware. But unlike Kiyoko-san, he’d been given a second chance to not lose again. He’d been given a second team: Suga-san’s leaning forward to get a better look at Kiyoko-san’s shins, Yachi’s shoulder is pressing against his, lending him some warmth to battle against the heaviness of Kiyoko-san’s story.

He must have looked kind of horrified, though, because Kiyoko-san catches his eye and immediately says, “But it’s not like I’ve given it up completely. I still go on the track on Sundays to practice.”

“That’s good,” Kageyama says, wanting to know Kiyoko-san a lot more now but not knowing how to ask. “That’s good.”

But Daichi shifts the conversation to Yachi. “Did you do any sports in middle school, Hitoka-chan?”

Yachi blushes red at being addressed. “Basketball. But I wasn’t very good.”

“I’m sure you were,” Daichi reassures her.

Yachi face gets even redder. The string around Kageyama tightens. He presses his shoulder into Yachi’s. Yachi blinks up at him.

“Don’t worry,” Kageyama says, his voice a little shaky. “You must have been better at basketball than I was at volleyball in middle school.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted this out loud. The words ring in his ears, and he coughs. For all his setting abilities, he’d never been a very good setter, not like Oikawa-san, or Suga-san.

“Don’t be silly, Kageyama—” Daichi begins.

“I also,” Kageyama glances at Hinata’s empty futon, “lost a lot in middle school without knowing that I had lost until it was too late. I don’t want to lose this time around. I want us to be on the court for as long as we can.”

Yachi stands. “We’ll go to nationals, Kageyama-kun! We’ll go and we’ll win!”

Her determination is so like Hinata’s, and Kageyama is grateful. But he also wishes that it was Hinata who’d stood up and said it instead of Yachi, even though Hinata’d said something of the sort a million times over. He wishes Hinata were here.

                                                                                                              

On the third day of training, their quick gets stopped a mere two points in. Lev, the tall, Russian middle blocker jumps up, towers over Hinata, and lands as the ball slams down into Karasuno’s defenseless corner, his green cat-eyes blinking.

Kageyama blinks stupidly at their loss. Nekoma’s on the other side, cheering and ruffling Lev’s hair. And Hinata’s standing there, staring, equally as stupid.

He goes over. They haven’t really talked to each other since this morning at breakfast, when Hinata had asked him to pass the shoyu. He can feel energy radiating from Hinata. It’s his desire to win, Kageyama knows. It’s normal for Hinata, for Kageyama, for everyone who gets to be on court, but somehow, it makes him nervous.

“Hey,” he says, speaking to the side of Hinata’s head, “I’m going to add more normal quicks in. The floaty ones.”

Hinata gives no sign of having heard him.

Kageyama is annoyed. They’re in a game. It’s only a practice game, but he doesn’t want them to lose. “Hey, are you listening.”

Hinata turns, and his eyes glint. It’s carries none of his usual playfulness. It’s determination and something else, and Kageyama can’t figure out what.

“Yeah,” Hinata replies. He marches away. He’s been doing a lot of that this past week, being away. Kageyama looks at the “10” on the back of his bib. It’s the same number the Little Giant wore, but Kageyama had always associated the “10” to Hinata more than he did the Little Giant. He’d liked that Hinata was number 10. Number 10 was next to number 9. Close, familiar.

But right now, number 10 is no more than a stranger.

They try again, slipping in more normal quicks that go entirely noticed by Nekoma. Their first decoy bumps across Lev’s fingertips in a one-touch. It isn’t Kageyama’s best toss, but Lev is faster than he’d thought. Sharper. He sets Kageyama’s heart pumping.

Coach Ukai calls for a time-out. He’s frowning. “Keep your cool,” he tells them as he turns the strategy board over and over in his hands. “They’ve been on high alert for that quick since the beginning, so it’s understandable. For now, use Azumane and Tanaka attacking on the left as the pivot of attack against Nekoma.”

That sounds workable. Kageyama nods. “Got it.”

Hinata’s standing a little farther away, slightly outside of the circle the team has made around the coach. His head is down, so Kageyama can’t see his expression, but he’s clutching at his shirt so hard his knuckles are white.

Kageyama has half the mind to go yell at him. He would yell at Hinata for being a dumbass and Hinata would yell right back, only half-offended. But then he remembers how this morning, when he’d told Hinata, after catching him yawning, that he should have gone to sleep earlier, Hinata hadn’t gotten fired up like Kageyama had expected him to. Instead, Hinata had stretched and said, as if he hadn’t heard, “Staying up to play that video game was _so_ worth it.”

He wonders if Hinata would yell right back if he yelled at him, like normal.

But the whistles blows, and they go back into the game.

It’s Nekoma, 3 and Karasuno, 2. And then its Nekoma, 4. Then 5. Then Kageyama’s diving for a receive and Daichi’s setting and Asahi’s calling for the ball and going up for a kill.

He’s not the only one, though.

Hinata, silent, mouth curled up in antipication, flying. Kageyama watches in horror as Hinata’s small body collides with Asahi, and then is flung backward close to Kageyama. It’s a loud crash to the floor, but not as loud as the ball thudding behind them.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

And suddenly, it’s not Hinata he sees on the floor, but himself in his Kitaichi uniform. Selfish, greedy, completely unaware of his teammates. He’d lost the game like that. And Hinata—Hinata would lose, too.

“—Pay attention to your surroundings, dumbass,” Coach Ukai is yelling at Hinata, who’s scratching the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Why do you think everyone’s calling for the ball?”

Kageyama is yelling, too, before he can help it. “Moron! Hinata, you moron!” _That’s not how you win,_ he wants to say. _I know. I’ve been there._

It happened in his third year of middle school. When his desire to win had eclipsed his desire to become a better setter than Oikawa-san. He’d raced ahead, tossing faster and faster until there was nothing behind him but dust and a chasm between him and his teammates. By stealing the toss meant for the ace, Hinata is also striding forward. He’ll pick up speed, going forward too soon, too quick, and that is how Kageyama had lost.

He doesn’t want Hinata to lose. He doesn’t want the team to lose.

Nekoma is going back into position on the other side. Their server bounces the ball a couple times in preparation for the serve.

“Hey, Kageyama.” Hinata’s voice is quiet.

“Hmmm?” Hinata’s going to _get it_ , to tell him to toss to Asahi-san and Tanaka-san more, because by god, Hinata’s _not_ on top of his game today.

But Hinata says, “About the ‘gyun!’ quick strike. I’m going to stop closing my eyes.”

Kageyama exhales. “Come again?”

Hinata glares up at him, and he is reminded at how small Hinata really is.

“It’s no good the way things are now. I can’t have you enabling me to hit that quick.”

Panic shoots up Kageyama’s spine. The word _enabling_ presses down on his shoulders. The string from yesterday and the day before chokes him. His heart opens rapid-fire into his chest. Isn’t that what a setter is supposed to do? To enable them to make the best attack they can?

He forces himself to remain calm. “We do this because you couldn’t on your own. You remember what happened with the normal quick strike.”

Hinata opens his mouth. He looks angry. Kageyama swallows and turns away. “I don’t know what’s on your mind, but I’ll listen to it later.” He really, really doesn’t, because Kageyama doesn’t want to hear Hinata say that he wants to open his eyes and his take away his trust in him.

And then, it just slips out. “I’ll tell you now, I have no intention of tossing to someone I know will miss.”

He wants to throw up. He doesn’t mean it like that, like his tosses are some kind of privilege he bestows on Hinata. He doesn’t mean to take them back to square one. But he feels like being back in square one, when he hadn’t known how precious someone’s trust could be. _I’m here_ , Hinata had said, and he had been flying, and Kageyama had felt like he was flying, too. Like he was winning. But Hinata’s over there. He’s over there, and there’s so much distance.

Kageyama tosses mostly to Asahi-san and Tanaka-san for the rest of the match. He gives Hinata two sets, and Hinata hits them with his eyes closed. But it seems different, like Hinata is giving Kageyama his trust reluctantly, and at the end, Kageyama almost doesn’t want it at all.

They lose 18-25, and it’s not like they haven’t done laps of dives all through the three days of camp, but his knees quake before they even finish half of this one.

Suga-san takes them outside to talk during the break.

“Look guys,” he says, silver hair glinting in the sun. “There’s no harm in trying, right? I mean, the last time we played Nekoma, Hinata even managed a full-blown normal quick.”

Hinata’s glaring at the floor. Kageyama glances at the spot he’s fixated upon, where a daisy springs up from a crack in the concrete, just like they’d sprung up in front of Ushijima: out of nowhere, unexpected. And now Hinata doesn’t want a “they”. His clenches his fist. They’re going to lose without a “they”.

“At the time,” Kageyama says, trying to keep his voice even, “there was a possibility the normal quick would succeed, so I don’t think that can be considered a breakthrough.”

Hinata is _trembling_ , even though he sounds oddly still. “In that last play against Seijou, I didn’t realize it until we’d already lost. When I did, the ball was already behind me, and was falling to the floor. And you,” he looks directly at Kageyama now, and his amber eyes are a whirlpool of hurt and defeat and the determination to rebuild himself, “you said, ‘Sorry, they totally read me in the end, in the end.’ But I’m the one who lost, so I don’t want you to apologize, Kageyama. I want to fight in midair, until the very last moment.”

Kageyama flinches. He had apologized that day. It was the first time in a while he’d thought a toss merited an apology; he hadn’t given Hinata the best toss that he could, like Oikawa-san had given every one of his teammates the best tosses he could. And Hinata flinging his apology back in his face was almost like flinging their partnership back in his face. It hurt more than when Hinata’d slammed his serve at the back of his head during their first practice match with Seijou.

 “In that Seijou match,” he says, trying hard to stay in the present moment, “I started to understand that the setter is the one who draws out 100% of the spikers’ power.” He looks down. Hinata is so short, but he can jump, and Kageyama can make that jump count. “That quick strike is your greatest weapon. So, where that quick is concerned, a slight mistake becomes a fatal one. There’s no need for you to think on your own in that quick strike.”

_Trust me_ , he thinks, as he fleetingly catches Hinata’s gaze again for the thousandth time that day. _Trust me. I don’t want to lose, either. I want to play with you for as long as I can._

But Hinata’s stare is back on the ground, and Kageyama backs away.

What’s with this distance?

                                                                                                              

He joins Kuroo, Bokuto-san, and Akaashi-san for individual practice in the afternoon. It’s nice in a way, to toss to different people, and to not have to entertain a flutter in his chest every time a receive goes to the spot Hinata should be. Kuroo and Bokuto-san are boisterous, and their laughs curls themselves around him and loosens the tension of the string a little.

But Hinata doesn’t sit next to him during dinner, and he’s nowhere to be seen when they disband for the night. Kageyama shrugs, ignoring a hollow feeling that’s sitting at the pit of his stomach even though he just ate. He knows now, he thinks, what the feeling is. He’s felt it before. But ever since the beginning of high school it’s gone away, and Kageyama’s not going to let it defeat him again.

The senpais, by the looks of it, are still in the cafeteria, so maybe there’s no chatting tonight. Kageyama shrugs, pulls on his jacket, and heads to the gym. On the way there, he sees Tsukishima walking past, moonlight hair and glasses shading his eyes. He expects an insult, but gets none. Tsukishima doesn’t even bump into Kageyama’s shoulder.

The gym, it turns out, is not empty. Hinata’s in the corner, spiking at the wall. Yachi squats next to him. Kageyama’s surprised. He’d thought Hinata would be playing videogames with Kenma or something. But he’s here, eyes narrowed, slamming volleyballs into the wall. It goes _pow pow pow_. Powerful.

His shoes squeak on the newly-waxed gym floor. Hinata turns around, startled. And then his face melts into a grin. “Oi, Kageyama,” he says. “Glad you’re here. Give me a toss.”

It’s almost like normal. Kageyama positions himself next to the net on pure instinct. Hinata throws a ball high in the air and Kageyama runs to meet it. His heart leaps. This is normal. Hinata’s asking for a toss. He’s smiling.

Yachi brings over the cart of balls.

Kageyama tosses.

Hinata misses.

His eyes are wide open as his lands.

“One more,” he says, sprinting back to the right side, not smiling anymore.

Kageyama gives him another, even though his brain is screaming at him to stop. And another, and another until they’ve exhausted all the balls in the cart.

He pauses then. “Instead of practicing an attack we’re not sure you’ll ever be able to do, you should be working on the attacks we’ve been using, as well as serving and blocking.”

“But if the quick doesn’t work, there’s no use of me being on the court!”

“And I told you your will isn’t needed for the quick. I’ll give you tosses that won’t be stopped by blocks.” Kageyama will not let them lose.

“But then I’ll never get better!”

“The prelims for Spring High is next month. They’re around the corner. A complete quick or a useless quick, huh?”

What Kageyama is saying is correct, so why is Hinata still hanging on?

“I want to be strong enough to compete by myself.”

“Your selfishness is going to destroy the team’s balance.” _Trust me_ , he pleads, _Trust me._ “I’ll toss to anyone who’s essential to winning. But you’re not essential right now.” Hinata’s going to lose this way.

“KAGEYAMA!” Hinata collides into him. He’s tearing at Kageyama’s shirt.

Kageyama’s trying to pry Hinata away from him. “Damn it, let go!” he says, but he feels so far away, like he was watching this on film.

They’re fighting, he thinks, as Hinata tightens his grip around his middle, shaking him. He’s never fought with anyone before.

“I won’t let go until you give me a toss!”

Hinata’s asking Kageyama to give, even though he’s going to take away so much. Kageyama pushes him off. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“That quick,” Hinata’s breath is ragged, and Kageyama’s breathing hard, too, “was stopped today, and during the Seijoh match.”

“Are you trying to say my toss was at fault?” Hinata leaps on Kageyama’s back, hands scrabbling around Kageyama’s neck.

“No! That’s not it. It was perfect. It was spot on! And yet it was stopped. If I don’t get better, it’s not going to work on stronger opponents.”

But it won’t. Going on too far by yourself doesn’t keep you on the court. It’s just a way to lose.

“Hey, stop it, you two!”

And Tanaka-san is pushing the two of them away. Yachi is crying. Kageyama wants to go over and press his shoulder against hers and tell her that it’s alright, but Hinata gets there first.

They’re only on the other side of the gym, but they feel so far away.

“We’re okay,” he hears Hinata say. “Why don’t we go back to the dorms, yeah?” He gathers her up, and shepherds her to the exit.

Yachi glances back at Kageyama. Hinata doesn’t.

Tanaka-san rounds onto him. He’s never seen Tanaka-san look so angry before.

“ _What_ were you two doing?”

Kageyama glares at the exit Hinata and Yachi just went through. His cheek hurt. He brushes at it impatiently and his fingers comes away with blood.

Tanaka-san thrust a tissue at Kageyama. “Well?!”

Kageyama dabs at his cheek with the tissue. The hollow feeling gurgles in his stomach. “He wants to move ahead.”

Tanaka-san stares at him. “Then move ahead with him. It’s not that hard.”

“He wants to move ahead by himself.” Hinata’d bruised his shoulders, too. He flexes them gingerly. “We’re going to lose if he does.”

“We won’t know until we try.” Tanaka-san’s voice is a little softer now.

Kageyama’s heart is straining against the string that so tightly winded. He feels dizzy. “But I do know,” he says, making his way towards the exit. He has to get out of the gym before he’s too dizzy to move.

Tanaka-san does not follow him.

                                                                                                              

The next morning when Kageyama wakes up to go for a run, Hinata’s asleep. But he’s pulled his futon to the other end of the room, so Kageyama had woken up alone.

He finds Suga-san stretching outside in the half-light.

“Hey, Kageyama. Going for a run?”

Kageyama nods.

“Mind if I join?”

“Sure.” He’s grateful for the company.

Suga-san sets the pace. They’re silent for most of the way, but suburban Tokyo is a lot louder than Miyagi in the morning. Besides the pounding of their feet on the pavement, there’s the fuming of cars, and the squawking of a large murder of crows. The air is stifling, and so, by the end of their run, is their silence.

“Kageyama,” Suga-san says, slightly out of breath. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Not really, no. What is there to talk about?

“You know,” Suga-san continues, “Yamaguchi and Tsukishima had a fight yesterday, too.”

Oh. So that was why Tsukishima had passed him by without saying anything.

“Friends fight all the time. It’s normal.”

Kageyama stops, and Suga-san does the same, turning to look at him. He doesn’t – the point is that he doesn’t know if he and Hinata are still friends anymore. Kageyama’s not wrong and Hinata’s ignoring him, and there’s so much distance between them, like they’re two tectonic plates drifting apart.

“Hinata wants to move ahead, and the rest of the team won’t be able to keep up with him.” Kageyama begins running again. “He won’t win this way. We won’t win this way, and I don’t want to lose. It’s like what Kiyoko-san had said. She’d lost when she didn’t stop.”

It’s like in middle school, when Oikawa-san was too far away to see or reach. So Kageyama had kept on chasing and chasing until he’d lost sense of where and who he was.

They’re running through the gates of the campground now. Kageyama’s shirt is sticking to his chest. Suga-san’s forehead is beaded with sweat as well.

He slows to a stop. “It’s true,” he says, “that Hinata won’t win by himself. But Kageyama, you can’t win by yourself either.”

Suga-san pats Kageyama on the shoulder and goes inside, leaving him in the sun.

                                                                                                              

Back home, his mother looks more tired than she did three days ago. When he asks her if she’s doing alright, she smiles and tells him yes. When she asks him if he enjoyed camp, he smiles and tells her yes.

He goes outside after, knowing that they both can’t keep the smile on their faces any longer. Michiko and the rest of the cats are milling around in the alleyway, and they ignore him even as he shakes the cupful of cat food at them.

It’s strange, because normally they yowl loudly when he gets back from school.

It’s even stranger when he’s found their dish, hidden under a bush on the other side of road.

The dish is filled with food. And it’s an entirely different brand than Kageyama’s.


	5. Genius

Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san are at the bus stop. They’re bickering over why someone called Hanamaki would or would not fall for their prank call.

The streetlamp shines a light on their smiles, and bile rises up in Kageyama’s throat. He retreats into his own stop, hoping the shadows would hide him. It’s weird to think how, a week ago, him and Hinata were just like Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san: fighting, but not meaning it.

And now they’re not. They’re just fighting.

And it’s not like Kageyama doesn’t know that he’s right. He doesn’t want to lose, so he’s going to do everything to prevent it from happening. It’s just that, right now, he feels like he doesn’t know how to win, either.

“—bio-chan! Oi! Tobio-chan!”

Somehow, Oikawa-san had materialized next to him.

He jumps, heart stuttering. “What?”

Oikawa-san puts his hands on his hips. “I’ve been calling your name for more than a minute, now. Honestly, Tobio-chan, how can you be so unaware of your surroundings? What’s the point of being super-talented at setting when you don’t know where to set to?”

He presses his palm against his chest to make sure his heart hadn’t jumped out of it.

Oikawa-san is standing too close, too close. Kageyama doesn’t know why he’s initiating conversation all of a sudden, why he’d come over just to talk to Kageyama.

Are they playing a prank on Kageyama, too?

He looks across the street at Iwaizumi-san for hints at what’s coming, but Iwaizumi-san is on his phone, fingers flying across the keyboard as he texts someone furiously, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Oikawa-san is speaking again. “…haven’t seen you around for a bit, Tobio-chan. Have you been slacking off?”

Kageyama wants to laugh. His knees are still black and purple from all the dives they did from losing to Nekoma and Fukurodani over and over again. “We were just at training camp in Tokyo.”

“Tokyo, did you say?” Iwaizumi-san is putting his phone away. He glances left and right before crossing the street. “With which school?”

“Nekoma,” Kageyama replies. Iwaizumi-san shoves Oikawa-san out of the bus stop entryway so he can stand next to them. Oikawa-san bumps into Kageyama.

“Sorry,” Oikawa-san mutters, but doesn’t move away.

Kageyama can feel his face heating up. He wrenches his shoulder away from the point of contact before he can say something stupid, like ask Oikawa-san for another cough drop.

“Nekoma, eh?” Iwaizumi-san chuckles. “The feral cats. Heard they’re really good. Call themselves ‘the body’s blood flowing smoothly to circulate oxygen’ or something?”

Oikawa-san snorts. “The body’s…blood?”

Iwaizumi-san laughs, too. “Yeah, that’s a shitty metaphor. I agree.”

“That’s a first, Iwa-chan.”

Kageyama doesn’t know what a metaphor is. So he says, “we played with Fukurodani, too. Their setter, Akaashi-san, is really cool.” And Akaashi-san had let Kageyama practice with him on their final day, when he and Hinata had resolutely avoided being in the same corner of the camp as one another. “His touch is always super soft, but it’s lightspeed fast and exact. He’s only a second-year, too, and he’s already vice-captain!”

Oikawa-san’s eyes flash. “Setter. Huh.”

“Don’t be a dick, Oikawa,” says Iwaizumi-san.

Oikawa-san flinches. “I didn’t say anything!”

Iwaizumi-san ignores Oikawa-san. “His ace is Bokuto Kotarou, right? Quite the character, isn’t he?”

Kageyama nods. He’d liked Bokuto-san. Bokuto-san’s laugh had been loud and infectious, and he had clapped Kageyama on the shoulder as he boarded the bus to go back home. “Yeah,” he says, “when he takes the game seriously, it’s amazing to watch his and Akaashi-san’s combo.”

“Kind of like you and me, then, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa-san flashes a thumbs-up towards his best friend. Iwaizumi-san gives his shoulder a light punch in reply. “Kind of like you and Shrimpy, too, right, Tobio-chan?”

Oikawa-san’s voice is a low purr. His eyelids are lowered to half-mast. Kageyama swallows. Oikawa-san doesn’t know what had happened between him and Hinata. He couldn’t have, not when he hadn’t known that Kageyama had gone to training camp in Tokyo. But Oikawa-san’s taunting lilt suggested otherwise, and Kageyama feels as though he’s glass, brittle and totally see-through.

“Right,” he says. “A little bit.”

                                                                                                              

Hinata doesn’t talk to Kageyama the entire day, doesn’t even look at him. He works on his receives with Daichi for half of morning practice, and then practices hits with Suga-san in the other half. Kageyama works at his reflexes on his own, hitting the ball at the wall hard, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Hinata, eyes wide open as he runs up to spike, only to miss nine times out of ten. Kageyama wants to toss to Hinata. He wants to eat lunch with Hinata, and to hear Hinata tell Natsu stories and to have Hinata steal from his bento. But he doesn’t want to lose.

But the way Suga-san looks at him – it’s the first time Suga-san’s looked at him with something past understanding and halfway to pity. He spikes the ball at the wall hard.

“Oh my.” It’s Tsukishima. Of course it’s Tsukishima. “Has the king lost his court jester? This looks like a pretty empty throne room.”

Kageyama exhales. It’s just Tsukishima. Tsukishima will get bored of Kageyama, just as he gets bored of everything, and go away.

“Don’t, Tsukki.” And Yamaguchi is standing there, next to Tsukishima, a hand on his shoulder. He’s all smiles today.

It’s like someone’s stabbed Kageyama in the stomach. How…how are Yamaguchi and Tsukishima friends again? Weren’t they in a fight during camp as well? Why is it taking him and Hinata so long?

Tsukishima picks up a ball that had been rolling towards him. He spins it around in this hands, breathes in, and spikes it at the wall next to Kageyama. The ball returns. Tsukishima does it again. Kageyama waits for the insult to come.

“Well, king?” Tsukishima’s gaze remains on the wall as he aims at it again and again. Yamaguchi is doing the same next to him. “The wall isn’t going to wait all day, you know?”

                                                                                                              

Kageyama does not go to his and Hinata’s usual spot by the gym during lunch. He does not go to the vending machines beside it, nor does he pass by the corridor leading up to it. He makes his way to the third floor, hoping that Suga-san, Daichi, and Michimiya Yui are having lunch outside their classroom again.

And they are. They’re sitting crossed-legged in a circle, laughing.

With Hinata.

Hinata’s telling them a Natsu story. It’s the same one. The onigiri one from what seems like a thousand years ago.

Kageyama freezes. Hinata shouldn’t be here. He should be in the steps of the gym, laughing with Kageyama instead, and telling Kageyama how Natsu burned the onigiri, or the squid, or, hell, watermelon.

Daichi and Suga-san have seen him, and they’re both trailing their gazes purposefully from him to Hinata and back. Kageyama knows what they want, but he can’t—he can’t do it. He turns away and walks back to classroom 1-5.

Yamaguchi is there, chopsticks scraping against his mouth as he scans through his comic book. He’s alone; Tsukishima is nowhere to be seen. Had they fought again?

Yamaguchi finishes the page and looks away to scoop up some rice. He gives a little jump when he realizes that Kageyama is behind him.

“Hey, Kageyama.” Yamaguchi smiles. It’s a warm smile. And Kageyama remembers, even though Yamaguchi hangs around Tsukishima all the time, he is very clearly not infected by the saltiness and indifference that seem to be always simmering in Tsukishima.

“Hi,” Kageyama replies. He wants to sit next to Yamaguchi. Maybe Yamaguchi will tell him a story about his comic. But he doesn’t know if it’s impolite or too intruding to ask.

Yamaguchi puts down his chopsticks and comic and pulls up a chair. “Wanna join?”

Kageyama is relieved. He’s so relieved. He puts his bento on the space Yamaguchi’s cleared out for him on the table and sits. Yamaguchi pushes a box of milk towards Kageyama.

“I—” Kageyama feels an overwhelming urge to hug Yamaguchi. He doesn’t, of course.

“Go on,” Yamaguchi says, giving the box another push.

Kageyama pokes the straw into the box and sucks at the milk. It’s cold. Yamaguchi must have bought it not too long ago.

 “So.” Yamaguchi shoves some more rice into his mouth. “What’s with you and Hinata still?”

Kageyama’s heart sinks. Not this again. He doesn’t want to think about stupid, stupid Hinata, not taking any of his advice, sitting and laughing with their senpais two floors above them.

“Dunno,” he says.

Yamaguchi nods. “You know, Tsukki doesn’t take my advice most of the time.”

How did Yamaguchi know? Did Kageyama say it out loud? Did he—

Yamaguchi misinterprets his look of horror as him being horrified that Tsukishima doesn’t take any of Yamaguchi’s advice. “Yeah,” he continues. Sometimes I think that he’s wrong, that he’s being stupid. But sometimes, he’s right to be upset, you know?” Yamaguchi picks at the pages of his comic book. “Sometimes I give the wrong advice.”

The question burns at Kageyama’s tongue. “Do you…” he hesitates. The burning gets more acute. “Do you fight all the time? I saw… at camp…?”

“Oh.” The cover of Yamaguchi’s comic book glint in the sun. “No. That was the first time. Because this time, I wasn’t giving him advice. I was flat-out telling him to get his shit together.”

Isn’t that what Kageyama is doing? Trying to get Hinata to get his shit together?

“It felt horrible,” Yamaguchi says. “Even though I knew I was right, it still felt like I was wrong. And it still kept feeling wrong until we were friends again.”

And that clawing, empty feeling in his stomach is back. That feeling when he saw the empty futon at camp, when he saw Hinata on the other end of the gym, looking resolutely away, when, today, Hinata had chosen to sit with the senpais and not with him.

But how is Kageyama supposed to convince Hinata that he was wrong, that they should continue to work on what has been working for both of them so far: Hinata trusting Kageyama in getting the toss to him, eyes closed.

_Was_ Hinata wrong?

Before he can ask, though, Yamaguchi lets out an embarrassed laugh. “Here I go again, giving out unwanted advice.” He scratches at his cheek. “You’d probably get better advice from Suga-san or something. He’s probably fought with Asahi-san before. He’ll know what to do when the setter and his ace have a falling-out!”

_Setter._

The bell rings. Kageyama bring his chair back to its original desk and picks up his bento.

He hovers next to Yamaguchi as Yamaguchi packs up his lunch and puts away his comic book.

“Thanks,” he says, meaning it, when Yamaguchi looks up again.

Yamaguchi nods, patting him on the back. “That’s what teammates are for.”

                                                                                                              

The bus rolls to a stop below Aoba Castle, and Kageyama gets off, legs a little shaky. The sun beats down on him, and the black of his jacket absorbs all the heat, making him feel faint.

He’d been feeling hot and nauseous ever since lunch, after he’d talked to Yamaguchi, but it had gotten worse when Takeda-sensei had announced, before Coach Ukai dispersed them for individual practice, that they were going to have a practice match with Aoba Johsai on Friday.

Kageyama had looked at Hinata. Hinata had looked at Kageyama. And Kageyama had pretended they hadn’t.

The bus had passed by his house on the way here. Kageyama had almost gotten off there.

But he hadn’t. And here he is, walking into the sun towards Aoba Johsai. He hadn’t been here since last year, when he’d been applying to high schools and Iwaizumi-san had offered to give him and Kindaichi and Kunimi a tour.

It hadn’t gone well. Kindaichi and Kunimi ignored Kageyama the entire time, and Kageyama had lingered way behind them, effectively missing everything Iwaizumi-san had to say about the school.

And Kindaichi and Kunimi are here now, coming out of Seijou’s gates. Kindaichi is beaming. It transforms his face, making it less harsh, less turnip-y. Kunimi is saying something, tone playful. Kageyama had never heard Kunimi sound anything other than bored.

Then Kindaichi’s smile fades, and Kunimi stops talking. They’re both looking at Kageyama with uncertainty, an expression halfway between dislike and confusion.

Kageyama takes a deep breath. He walks up, and, deciding that bluntness was the way to go, says, “Oi, have you seen Oikawa-san?”

Kunimi is the first to recover. He slouches. “Nice to see you, too, Kageyama,” he drawls. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Kindaichi looks as though someone had shoved dog shit underneath his nose. Then he puffs out his chest and says, “what do you want from Oikawa-senpai?”

“Advice.”

“Advice? What advice?” Kunimi’s voice is less of a drawl now.

Sweat drips down Kageyama’s forehead. He reaches up to brush it away. “Setter advice.” There’s no way in hell he was going to tell these two about Hinata.

Kindaichi mirrors his motion. “Setter advice,” he repeats, as if he can’t quite believe his ears. “Is the great king finally stepping down from his dictatorship?”

Kageyama grits his teeth. “I need his help,” he repeats.

Kunimi flicks his gaze towards Kindaichi. “Right,” he says, dubious. “Are you sure he can help you?”

Kageyama knows that Kunimi means _are you sure anyone can help you?_ Because Kunimi and Kindaichi had tried last year, but Kageyama had run too far ahead.

“Look—”

“Kageyama?” And Iwaizumi-san is strolling out of the school gates, he presence a rush of cool air. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s looking for Oikawa-senpai, Iwaizumi-senpai.” Kindaichi is standing at attention, like a private awaiting commands from his lieutenant.

Iwaizumi-san looks slightly embarrassed. “You don’t have to call me senpai, really, Kindaichi. And also, what are you doing out here? Don’t you have remedial classes?”

Kindaichi blushes. Kageyama thinks, perhaps a little vindictively, that it’s a good look on him.

Iwaizumi-san turns to Kageyama. “Well, Oikawa teaches at Little Tykes just down the road on Mondays. You’ll probably find him there, if you’re still looking for him.”

Kageyama cannot imagine Oikawa-san as a teacher, cannot imagine him all patience and encouragement as he demonstrates his signature serve. He bows anyway, relieved that Iwaizumi-san isn’t asking questions. “Thanks, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi-san waves Kageyama off. “Yeah, whatever. You’d better hurry up and catch him before practice ends.”

But Oikawa-san is encouraging. He is patient. Kageyama arrives at Little Tykes as Oikawa-san is teaching the kids how to block. His smile is genuine as he tells them when the best time to jump is.

Little Tykes is an outdoor court. The sun beats down Kageyama, so he goes to sit in the shade, hoping Oikawa-san doesn’t see him until he’s ready to talk.

No such luck.

Oikawa-san spots him as he’s going up for a toss for a kid to spike. His eyes narrow and his mouth twists into a frown as he looks in Kageyama’s direction. The toss goes to the kid perfectly, of course, and she is able to do a solid cross-court hit. Every one of Oikawa-san’s tosses go to his students perfectly, regardless of their skill level. Kageyama marvels at his accuracy. And when practice ends, the kids clamour for Oikawa-san to show them his serve. Oikawa-san is obliging, grinning as he picks up a ball, walks to the end of the court, and begins.

It’s no less stunning than the first time Kageyama’s seen it. He watches Oikawa-san’s shadow on the ground as he does the run-up. He’s both a supersonic blur and a razor-sharp outline. The serve itself is blistering, scorching a path to the other side.

The kids are silent. Kageyama gets up, heart in his throat. He’ll wait outside the receptionist’s office.

It doesn’t take long for Oikawa-san to come out. He’s with a boy, around ten years old. Kageyama recognizes him as having a pretty good outside hit.

“Tooru! Teach me how to serve!” The boy says, his eyes sparkling as he bounces around Oikawa-san’s side.

Kageyama waits for the “No! Nope stupid!” But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Oikawa-san says, “Hey, maybe show some respect first!” It’s a slight reprimand, not a flat-out rejection. Hope blossoms in Kageyama’s chest. Maybe he’s feeling generous today.

Oikawa-san is wearing his teal Aoba Johsai gym t-shirt and white sweatpants. It emphasizes how long his legs are. Kageyama swallows.

“Oikawa-san,” he says, placing himself firmly in his path.

Oikawa-san raises his head, eyes narrow. “Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama opens his mouth, but no words come out. Oikawa-san cocks an eyebrow.

“If you don’t mind moving. I’ll be taking my nephew home.”

The boy on Oikawa-san’s side raises his hand. “Hi!” His voice is a great deal friendlier than his uncle’s.

Kageyama glances at him. “Hey.”

Oikawa-san brushes past Kageyama, and Kageyama can smell summer and sweat and sun. “See ya!”

He panics. “Wait, Oikawa-san. Please –”

Oikawa-san whirls around. “Nope! Stupid! You stupid face. I can’t hear y—”

And there it is.

Kageyama shouldn’t have expected anything different.

But it is different, because Oikawa-san has stopped, as if startled, as if he’d surprised himself.

Kageyama bows anyway. “Please listen to me for a second.”

There are cracks in the dirt here as well, leftover from the dry season. With the rain from last week, the fissures are almost healed. Almost. A few more days of unrelenting sun and the earth might break apart again. Kageyama traces the outline of a daisy growing out from one of the fractures with his eyes. His face is so hot. He wonders why he’s not sweating more.

Oikawa-san takes a long time to respond. Kageyama’s back is getting tired.

“Why should I listen to what my opponent has to say?”

Well, Kageyama kind of knew it would be like this. He bows lower. “Please.” He outlines the daisy again. “Please.”

Oikawa-san sighs. There is shuffling. Kageyama doesn’t dare look up.

“Takeru.”

“What?”

“Take a picture.” What? His eyes snap up. He almost messes up his bow. Oikawa-san is handing Takeru his phone. “Hold it like this, and press this button. Tobio,” Kageyama quickly drops his gaze again. He grits his teeth. “Don’t move.”

More shuffling, and the backs of Oikawa-san’s legs come into view.

“Yay! I’ll call this ‘Tobio is no match for Oikawa-san!’”

Kageyama almost laughs. It’s childish, and funny in a way, because he’s almost sure that Oikawa-san already knows that Kageyama is no match for him, that he really doesn’t need a picture as proof. After all, isn’t it why Kageyama is coming to him for help today, because Oikawa-san is still leagues ahead of him?

Oikawa-san’s legs move away, and Kageyama straightens up, vertebrae cracking.

“Tooru.” Takeru is inspecting the picture. “You’re actually happy about this? Laaame!”

Oikawa-san makes an indignant noise, and snatches the phone away from Takeru. He turns to Kageyama, hand running through his hair. “Well, what do you want? I’m busy, you know?”

Kageyama exhales. “I—”

Takeru interrupts him. “I thought you said your girlfriend dumped you, so you had free time!”

Kageyama’s heart gives a little leap. He interprets it as surprise, and disappointment. Oikawa-san’s girlfriend had been so nice to him at the restaurant.

“Shut up!” Oikawa-san is saying, reaching out to Takeru as if trying to physically quiet him.

Takeru doesn’t take the hint. “Ehhh? But when you came over, you said you didn’t know what you did wrong!”

Oikawa-san’s hands are curled into fists. “I said, shut up!” His face is flushed pink, his eyes squeezed shut, and Kageyama thinks Oikawa-san is a little cute when he’s flustered like this.

He coughs, realizing belatedly that “cute” and “Oikawa-san” don’t usually go in the same sentence. “So, uh, what if you were close to a tournament, and Iwaizumi-san said he was going to try some impossible attack.”

Oikawa-san scoffs, cuteness disappearing as quick as it came. “If you want to talk to me about something, quit with the lame ‘what if’ story and tell me flat out.”

Part of Kageyama thinks this is funny as well, since Oikawa-san himself never tells anyone anything “flat out”. Another part of him is nervous as hell, because he doesn’t want to look like a loser in front of Oikawa-san, even though he’s been losing every time they meet.

And yet.

“Hinata says he wants to hit our quick with his own will, even though he’d been doing it with his eyes closed the entire time.”

“Oh really?” Oikawa-san crosses his arms. “That would be pretty impressive if he could do it. Why don’t you let him?”

 “Please don’t make it sound so easy.” This morning, Hinata’s eyes were as large as the sun, shining with determination to do it himself. He’d missed nine times out of ten today, but Kageyama knows that Hinata will improve, a lot faster than anyone would expect. And then he wouldn’t need Kageyama as much, and Kageyama doesn’t want to lose.

“Hinata doesn’t have any technique!” Even his argument sounds weak to his own ears.

Oikawa-san shifts his weight onto his other leg. The one with the good knee. “So you told him, ‘Just do as I say’? You sound like a dictator.” His voice is a slow, soft taunt. “Have you put any thought into it? Are you giving the shrimp the exact tosses he wants? Have you even tried to?”

Had he? When Hinata’d said, “Hey Kageyama, give me a toss,” had Kageyama given him what he’d wanted? What had Hinata wanted? Hinata’d wanted to stop being lugged into a duo with Kageyama. Hinata’d wanted to be better himself. Kageyama’d just wanted Hinata to keep putting all his trust in him, because Kageyama knew he’d give Hinata the best tosses for the both of them.

“If you’re thinking the situation is as good as it can be and you’re getting defensive about it, you’re a coward.”

_Coward_. Oikawa-san sounds so far away and yet so loud and clear at the same time. _Coward_. Kageyama doesn’t want to lose. He wants to tell Oikawa-san about when Hinata had called out to him, “I’m here,” totally blind, but _here_ , and he wants to tell Oikawa-san about the set and the spike and how the ball had crashed onto the other side. He wants to tell Oikawa-san he doesn’t want to lose what they already have. He doesn’t want. To lose. _Coward_.

“The one who has control behind the attack isn’t you. It’s the shrimp.”

_Coward_. Hinata’d been here the whole time. But where was Kageyama?

“If you can’t understand that, you’re just regressing back to that tyrant king.”

Kageyama feels faint. He can hear a slight thudding behind him. And then Hinata’s voice, asking for a toss _Thud. Thud. Thud._ And it’s not Hinata’s voice anymore. It’s Kindaichi’s. _Thud thud thud_. The ground beneath him is beginning to shake. _Thudthudthud_. The ground is cracking. He feels like he’s going to be shattered, ripped into two. _Thudthudthud_ —the chasm yawns, the old fear awakens, and then—

“Tobio?” The thudding stops. He smells sweat and summer and sun, and Oikawa-san is waving a hand in front of him, mouth twisted into a frown. “Were you even listening?”

He nods, mute. Oikawa-san takes a step back, and the sweaty scent of summer and sun fades, and Kageyama wants to chase after it. “Well, what did the great Oikawa-san tell you?”

“Don’t be a king,” Kageyama says. _Don’t be a coward_.

Oikawa-san harrumphs. “Why am I giving you this advice? We’re going to have a practice match in five days.” He gives Takeru a push. “Come on! Home!”

Kageyama moves to the side to let Takeru and Oikawa-san pass. Oikawa-san takes two steps and then glares back at Kageyama. “Well, don’t just stand there looking gormless. I have to get Takeru home by six.”

Kageyama gapes. His stomach is flopping around like a fish.

Oikawa-san looks annoyed. “I’m leaving without you!”

His stomach won’t stop flopping around. Kageyama ignores it and follows Oikawa-san and Takeru down the steps.

                                                                                                              

They’re past the gym and the track adjacent to it and are in a residential area when Oikawa-san takes out his phone and fiddles with the screen.

“EHHHH?” Kageyama walks right into Oikawa-san. Oikawa-san barely even notices. He’s stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, holding up his phone and staring at it in disbelief. “I’m totally blurry!”

Kageyama peers over Oikawa-san’s shoulder, and is trying to determine what, exactly, made Oikawa-san blurry when a hand lands on his shoulder.

Oikawa-san’s fingers are long and thin like a magician’s. And Kageyama thinks dizzily that yes, Oikawa-san is indeed magic on the court.

“Tobio-chan. Again!”

“What?”

A phone is shoved under his face, and he is confronted by himself bowing, the 90̊ of his bow carved onto the screen. In the corner, Oikawa-san is a blur of white and teal and brown.

Oh.

“No.”

Oikawa-san shakes him. “Again!” He’s pouting, eyes clamped shut, shades of pink strewn across his cheeks. Kageyama thinks, _cute_ , before he can stop himself.

He sighs. It can’t get any worse than this, and bends down.

“Don’t post this online,” he says.

Oikawa-san is silent for a bit. Then he says, like he’s a little uncertain, “I wasn’t—it was only for—I didn’t really mean—you don’t have to do it again, Tobio.”

Kageyama’s back is hurting. “Just hurry up and take the damn picture.”

“Takeru—”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“Don’t mess up this time.”

“Just stay still, Tooru. This is so lame.”

There is a snap, and then Oikawa-san nudges him. “Tobio-chan is lame,” he says, but he sounds like he’s smiling.

The neighbourhood they’re in right now is one of the suburbs of Sendai. The sidewalks are freshly paved, and the buildings rise higher than they do in Osato. Oikawa-san and Takeru chatter about school and Pokemon Go. Takeru says he’s caught more Squirtles than he cares for during those three days of rain, and Oikawa-san grins and asks him who’s the lame one here.

Kageyama walks behind them. The walk is a lot longer than he’d expected. He could have gone home by himself and played volleyball in the alley with Michiko and the other cats for company. And then he registers that after they’ve dropped off Takeru at home, he’ll have Oikawa-san for company instead. The realization makes his gut coil in fear and something else, something warm like one of Oikawa-san’s honey-lemon cough drops.

Takeru and Oikawa-san stop in front of a large house. They go through the front gates and ring the bell. Kageyama stands awkwardly outside, not sure if he’s invited in as well. As they’re waiting for the door to open, Oikawa-san turns to look at him. His lips press into a thin line and they tremble for a bit. Kageyama thinks he’s trying to suppress a laugh, although he doesn’t know what on earth he could be laughing at.

A woman comes out, and Kageyama can immediately tell she’s Oikawa-san’s sister. They’ve got the same aquiline nose, same warm brown eyes. They might even have the same hair, but Kageyama can’t tell since Oikawa-san’s sister has dyed hers blond.

“Takeru?” She says, drawing her son into the house and her voice is soothing, kind, and Kageyama wonders why Oikawa-san can’t sound like this. “Tooru, are you going to stay for dinner?”

“Heh, no,” Oikawa-san says, running a hand through his hair again. “Tobio and I are going home together.”

“Tobio?”

“A…friend.” Oikawa-san jabs a thumb in Kageyama’s direction.

Kageyama bows. “Pleased to meet you.”

Oikawa-san’s sister nods back at him. “Pleased to meet you, too. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

It really isn’t his decision. Kageyama glances at Oikawa-san. He’s already hopping away towards the gates. “Nahs, I’m a busy guy! Places to be, people to see. We’d best be off, Tobio-chan. Nice seeing you, big sis.”

Kageyama bows again at Oikawa-san’s sister. She’s looking at her brother with a fond smile. “Nice seeing you, too, Tooru. And your friend as well.”

Once they’re a few houses away, though, Oikawa-san turns to Kageyama. “Don’t get this wrong, Tobio-chan. I only said we were friends because explaining to my sister that we were enemies on the volleyball court is too much of a hassle.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Kageyama that Oikawa-san had meant what he said. “That’s fine,” he says.

“Say, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san says, stretching his arms above his head. “Why do you have that band-aid on your face.”

“Oh, this?” Kageyama had forgotten all about it. He reaches up to touch it. “Hinata hit me.”

“ _What?_ ”

He doesn’t understand why Oikawa-san sounds so thunderstruck. He shrugs. “We fought. Hinata hit me.”

Oikawa-san still looks disbelieving. “What are you? Kindergarteners?” He lets his arms down. “Does it hurt?”

Not physically, Kageyama thinks. Physically it was just a scratch across his cheeks. But when Hinata had launched himself at him, face twisted with anger—“A lot more than it should.”

“Hmmmmm?” Oikawa-san’s voice lilts. But strangely, it doesn’t sound mocking. “This isn’t just about volleyball is it?”

There are many things Kageyama doesn’t want to lose. Volleyball is definitely one of them. But Hinata…Hinata is one of them as well.

“You’ve never fought with him before, have you?”

The look Oikawa-san fixes on him is as shrewd as ever.

“No.” And because he’s never had a friend to fight with before, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

Oikawa-san sighs. His gaze flickers away towards the road ahead. “Iwa-chan and I fight all the time.”

“I noticed.” Kageyama kicks a pebble out of the way.

“Have you?” Oikawa-san smiles, fond. “It’s not easy to miss, is it?”

Kageyama studies the back of Oikawa-san’s head, the slicked-back brown strands turned a gleaming copper in the fading light. “Not really. Not when he’s yelling at you every morning at the bus stop.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa-san says, turning back towards Kageyama, his eyes bright. “But that doesn’t really count though. That’s just friendly fighting.” He reaches over and flicks a finger at Kageyama’s band-aid. “Nothing like this.”

Oikawa-san’s touch burns.

“No. When we do really fight, Iwa-chan still does most of the yelling. And I hit a lot of volleyballs. But I’m always the one who apologizes, though, because I’m the one who’s usually wrong.” They’re at a bus stop now. Oikawa-san drops his bag by the curb. “And if I were you, Tobio, I’d apologize as soon as possible and not let the thing drag on.”

“Wait,” Kageyama crinkles his nose. “Why am I the one who has to apologize? Hinata hit me, too.”

Oikawa-san taps his chin. “I think we both know that you’re the dumber one in the freak-quick duo; if anyone did anything wrong, it’s more likely to be you.”

“Oi!”

It might be something in his expression, because Oikawa-san takes one look at him and bursts out laughing. Real, eyes-closed, bend-over-in-half laughter. It’s something Kageyama’s only heard once or twice, and he’d never been the person who’d elicited it.

Oikawa-san’s laugh is kind of beautiful.

The bus comes. The number 9. They get on and there’s a snoozing businessman at the back. Kageyama picks a window seat, two down from the emergency exit, and Oikawa-san plonks down next to him.

Kageyama’s stomach leaps into his throat. He coughs, trying to force it back down. It doesn’t work. Oikawa-san’s arm brushes against his, and his cheeks flare hot.

Fumbling, he takes out his ipod and headphones from his bag.

Oikawa-san elbows his side. “What are you listening to?”

Kageyama focusses on untwining the cord of his headphones, eager to drown out the boom-ba boom-ba of his heart. “Jazz.”

“You like that kind of stuff?” Oikawa-san holds a hand out, and Kageyama blinks.

“Are you not going to share, Tobio?” And he blinks again before dropping an earbud into Oikawa-san’s outstretched palm. His fingers tremble as he scrolls through his playlist to find Sonny Rollin’s _Saxophone Colossus_ , only relaxing slightly once the Calypso rhythms of “St. Thomas” sashay into his ear.

Oikawa-san doesn’t talk to Kageyama on the way home. But, after they get off the bus and stand in the spotlight provided by their yellow streetlamp, he says, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Tobio.”

The warmth remaining from the day hasn’t dissipated yet, but Kageyama shivers. “Actually, you won’t. Hinata’s been going to practice early the last few days. I’m not going to let him get ahead.”

Oikawa-san lifts his head. “On the court then. I’m going to win. Don’t you forget it.”

“You probably are,” Kageyama admits, hating himself for it. “Hinata and I aren’t going to get better at the quick that easily. We’re not geniuses.”

Oikawa-san stiffens. “We’ll see.” And his voice is colder than it has been all day. “Goodbye Tobio.” He steps out from underneath the light of the streetlamp and fades into the gloom.

                                                                                                              

Hinata is already practicing with Suga-san when Kageyama walks into the gym the next day. His eyes are wide as he leaps up to spike the toss.

He misses.

The ball rolls over to Kageyama. He bends to pick it up. He can hear Hinata’s footsteps pounding towards him. His hands clutches at the ball so hard.

Hinata skids to a halt. Kageyama watches as Hinata’s sneakers appear into his line of sight. He doesn’t dare look up.

“Hinata,” he says to Hinata’s sneakers. “I—I’m sorry.” He stops. This is so hard. He doesn’t want to lose. But he doesn’t want them to lose. He doesn’t want to lose them. “I shouldn’t have told you no. I want…I want to help you. Will you let me?”

He hears a sound, a sharp inhale of breath. Hinata’s sneakers disappear from view. He’s jumping up and down.

“Really? You’ll toss to me again?”

Kageyama snaps his head up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. He wasn’t expecting this. He was expecting more anger, more yelling. He wasn’t expecting sparkling eyes and baited breath.

“Yeah,” he says. This is unreal. Warmth skitters down into his chest and expands. He feels like he could give Hinata the best toss he’s ever received. He feels like he’s winning.

Hinata takes the ball and bounces it up and down. “I’m working with Suga-san this morning. But let’s practice at lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats. He thinks he can fly. “Yeah.”

                                                                                                              

By the time Friday rolls around, his quick with Hinata has a success rate of 70%. It’s not much, they still miss a lot more times than they would like, but every time his ball hovers at its vertex, just as Hinata’s palm connects with it, it’s like lightning, like nuclear fusion, bursting with energy.

The 70% takes Aoba Johsai by surprise. The looks on Kindaichi and Kunimi’s faces when Hinata’s first spike blazes past them, his eyes bright and focussed like binary stars. Iwaizumi-san just tsks. “Well,” he says, challenging. “Did you just hit us with your best shot? You’ve got to do better.”

Oikawa-san, pressing up behind him in preparation for a receive, doesn’t say anything. Kageyama tries to catch his gaze across the net, anticipating a similar challenge, but Oikawa-san stares resolutely away.

They give it their all. Oikawa-san’s tosses are still as sharp and sleek as ever, his serves both stunning and scathing, and each of Seijou’s attacks are more cataclysmic than the one before, but in the end, Hinata gets the last word. He goes in for a minus tempo, his gaze fixed on victory, and Kageyama tosses to him. He shuts his eyes, pictures the toss Hinata would want, and tosses. And their last attack is just as glorious as their first, and Hinata is holding up his hand, palm freshly pink from the kill, his smile blinding.

Karasuno wins 2:1. Kageyama holds up his hand. He’s grinning like mad, too. He wants to yell across the court to Hinata. “I’m here. I’m here. We did it!”

Iwaizumi-san leads Seijou into dives. Oikawa-san brings up the rear, gracefully sliding onto the floor with his good knee. He keeps his eyes down the entire time.

After they’re done, Hinata turns to Coach Ukai. “One more!” he pleads. “One more!”

Adrenaline pumps through Kageyama. Yes. More.

Coach Ukai turns to Seijou’s coach, who shrugs. “If everyone’s in, I’m in. We have the gym till six-thirty.”

Oikawa-san clears his throat. “Sorry, coach.” His tone is as cheery and sing-song as ever, but somehow, to Kageyama, it sounds a bit off. “I’ve got to run! My nephew’s volleyball game is tonight.”

“Ehhh? But I thought—”

“Oi! Shittykawa—”

Oikawa-san just waves a hand at them as he walks off. “Sorry, sorry! Can’t be helped. And anyway,” he laughs a cold laugh. And it’s a stark contrast to the warm one he’d barked out at the bus stop on Monday, “what’s the use of playing with geniuses if they’re just going demolish every improvement you make each time?”

Kageyama’s heart rams against his chest so hard it hurts.

On the other side of the net, Iwaizumi-san snorts. “There he goes, throwing a hissy fit again.” His voice is gruff, but to Kageyama, the gruffness is spoiled by the hint of worry underneath. He turns to his team. “We can play without him. What a pissy brat.”

The whistle blows and the fourth match of the day begins. But Kageyama’s high is gone. His sets to Hinata are too fast. There is no lightning this time, only a fizzled out spark and thunderclaps of the word _genius_ echoing throughout his mind. The spark can’t fully ignite, and Coach pulls him out of the game and subs in Suga-san when the score is 18-8. Kageyama sits on the bench, towel over his head, fully aware of Hinata’s concerned gaze scanning over his face every time Karasuno gets a break.

It’s the heaviness and coldness from the last Kitaichi match all over again. It’s feeling unjustly vulnerable and alone. It’s like being exposed and closed in and out of breath at the same time.

Kageyama opens his mouth, suddenly starving for oxygen, but there’s a violent thudding in his ribcage. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

He coughs.


	6. Rivals

He does not see Oikawa-san for days afterward. He would get to the bus stop, flashlight app on, and there would be nothing but the streetlamp and the cracked concrete and the smell of green tea and miso.

He is sick of the smell of green tea and miso.

Iwaizumi-san comes to the bus stop some days. He arrives after Kageyama now, eyes usually glued to his phone as he makes his way down the slope. Sometimes Iwaizumi-san would cross the street, and they would talk about the FIVB World Championships and their old Kitaichi coach. Kageyama had liked their old coach. He had never treated Kageyama any different from his other teammates, had not said anything but “OI! If you call the ball, get the ball,” after the ball went thudding across an empty court.

Iwaizumi-san hadn’t, though. He said the coach was too negligent. He said this while staring at Kageyama. Kageyama doesn’t know what negligent means.

There are topics Kageyama realizes that Iwaizumi-san skirts around, like that last match that had Kageyama benched for the latter half of the game. Iwaizumi-san had been telling Kageyama that he’d been back to Kitaichi only twice after he’d graduated, both times because Oikawa-san insisted, and they had only watched one official game. Kageyama realizes that Iwaizumi-san had wanted to avoid mentioning this because then his eyes had gone as big as the moon and his face had turned beet red.

And Kageyama had said, “Oh. I hadn’t noticed you were there, watching.” But of course he had felt the stares of the two figures in teal and white up in the stands, watching him as he got taken off the court.

And Iwaizumi-san had said, “It was a good game, Kageyam – ”

And Kageyama had interrupted. “It really wasn’t, Iwaizumi-san. That’s why they call me king now. I was a dictator on the court, and I – I didn’t understand why type of sport volleyball really was.”

And Iwaizumi-san had smiled. “I meant that it was probably a good lesson to have learned.”

And they had left it at that.

Iwaizumi-san doesn’t mention Oikawa-san either, although every time his phone pings, he rolls his eyes, reads the message, and types back with the aggressiveness only saved for his best friend. So Kageyama thinks that Oikawa-san is doing okay, but if Iwaizumi-san isn’t going to talk about him, Kageyama isn’t going to ask.

There are also days where Kageyama tries to go to the bus stop half an hour early, to catch the bus before the one he usually takes, and the shadows cast by the yellow streetlight are longer, and the smell of green tea and miso stronger, but Oikawa-san is no more present.

                                                                                                              

Karasuno goes to summer training camp again.

Hinata’s futon is slept in this time, and he and Kageyama go on runs in the morning before eating breakfast together in the cafeteria, Kageyama slurping on milk and rice while Hinata lets his cereal soak for too long because he’s too absorbed in telling Kageyama about this new game Kenma had shown him the night before, spoon waving around in the air.

The last night of camp, they join the rest of the team in playing Truth and Truth, which is basically a game where they tell each other embarrassing things that happened before they’d joined the volleyball club.

“I once got mistaken for being in the fifth grade,” says Nishinoya, sprawled out on Suga’s futon, “and I was sixteen. _Sixteen_.”

“Lame!” Daichi calls out.

“Lame!” Kiyoko-san joins in.

Nishinoya flushes red. “Kiyoko-san, do you have a better Truth?”

“Once I was babysitting my little cousin and was maybe too into this K-drama that was playing, because then I heard something in the bathroom, and it turned out that my cousin had dropped the cellphone my uncle forgot to take with him into the toilet bowl – ” shrieks of laughter pierce the room “ – and was swirling it in the water.”

“Oh my god, Kiyoko-san, stop.”

Kiyoko-san ignores them. Kageyama leans in to hear the rest of the story. “So I had to fish it out of the water and stick it in a gigantic bowl of rice. It was still miraculously working. And when my uncle came home, he asked me if anything had gone wrong, and I had to watch him reach for his phone to check for messages while saying ‘nothing’.”

The team roars with laughter. Even Tsukishima is hiding a smile. And Kageyama can’t help but join in.

Kiyoko-san looks smug. “That was a way better Truth than yours, Nishinoya-kun.”

Hinata flips over onto his stomach next to Kageyama. “You can’t beat mine, Kiyoko-san.” And immediately looks like he regrets saying it because Kiyoko-san turns to look at him, eyes flashing under her glasses, and says, “Bring it on.”

“Back in Yukigaoka, when I first started playing volleyball, I would practice serving in the corner of the gym by myself at lunch. One time, this tiny girl came over and asked if I wanted to see her serve, and I was like, ‘Uh, no. That’s fine. I need to practice, not watch a tiny girl serve underhand.’ And – ”

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me,” yells Tanaka. “She – ”

Hinata pulls a face. “Turns out she was captain of our women’s volleyball team, and she had a serve that could rival the Grand King’s. Or, at least, it had looked that way at the time.” He buries his head into his arm. “She laughed so hard when I went crawling back to her and asked her to teach me how to serve.”

Both Kiyoko-san and Yachi are chortling. Tsukishima and Suga are sniggering.

Something in Kageyama’s chest gives a twinge. “Did she?” he asks, almost breathless.

“Well yeah,” Hinata says, flopping onto his back again. “But she made me call her ‘O Great Senpai’ ever after.”

Kageyama almost says, “You’re lucky that your senpai taught you how to serve.” He almost says, “My Truth is that my senpai never did.”

What he says instead is, “Then why is your serve still so shit, dumbass Hinata?”

Hinata bristles. “It’s not _shit_ , Kageyama. Not everyone can be a genius like you.”

Genius. Genius genius _geniusgeniusgenius_.

“Oh,” Tsukishima is saying, “nobody can be anything like our king.”

_geniusgeniusgenius_.

“…too good for everyone.”

_geniusgeniusgenius_.

His world tips over. Kageyama stands. “Excuse me,” he says.

“Hey now,” Suga-san begins. “Tsukishima – ”

Kageyama ignores him. He slides open the dormitory door and walks out.

_geniusgeniusgenius_.

The corridors are dark. It’s dark, but he can see Oikawa-san’s retreating back after the practice match as clear as day.

_What’s the use of playing with geniuses if they’re just going demolish every improvement you make each time?_

Before he knows it, he’s outside. The humid summer air accosts his skin and makes beads of sweat form on his nose.

“Kageyama?” It’s Hinata. “Don’t listen to Tsukishima. You know how he is, always trying to make everyone and everything feel inferior – ”

Kageyama is reminded that Hinata had only caught glimpses of what sort of player he was in middle school, what sort of people he’d played with. And Hinata had said that he doesn’t really care what Kageyama was like, had welcomed all of Kageyama’s skill and integrated it with his own.  

And Hinata had said, “I’m here,” when no one was.

“I’m here,” Hinata is saying now.

Kageyama feels gratitude well up inside him. He wants to say, “thank you”. He wants to say, “I’m glad you’re my friend”. But he’s never been good that saying those things, just as he’s never been good at smiling. And Hinata knows that.

So he says, “I’m going to practice some more,” knowing that Hinata will be able to read between the lines.

“Now?” Hinata says, “It’s eleven at night, Kageyama?” But he sounds excited.

“Are you coming or not, dumbass?”

Hinata hops over so he’s walking slightly in front of Kageyama, his orange hair bouncing, no less vibrant in the darkness.

“Well, if you ever feel like you need a shoulder to cry on, Kageyama, tell me. I can’t be the only one in this friendship complaining all the time.”

Kageyama swallows, and he thinks he can taste a slight hint of honey lemon at the back of his throat. “Idiot, I never cry.”

                                                                                                              

When Kageyama comes home from camp, the cat food dish is full, which surprises him, and Oikawa-san still doesn’t come to the bus stop in the mornings, which doesn’t surprise him.

Even Iwaizumi-san catches the bus less and less now, and Kageyama gets used to the solitude. Sometimes, he gets out his volleyball and tosses to himself while waiting. Sometimes, he watches the cracked concrete. The crack is now scattered with weeds. A dandelion grows out from it, yellow petals ruffling in the September breeze. Kageyama tries not to think about how the days in which he hasn’t seen Oikawa-san at the bus stop now vastly outnumber those in which he has.

But he can’t.

Practice becomes grueling, what with the Spring High preliminaries just around the corner. But Kageyama’s tosses to Tsukishima and Tanaka are getting better, and his and Hinata’s quick has a success rate of 90%, and he can see Nishinoya’s libero toss to Asahi-san become sharper day by day.

In the second week after school starts again, his mother’s client drops all charges against her assailant, and Kageyama watches his mother watch the client settle things with her rapist out of court.

They go to the ramen shop every night the following week.

Hinata invites him over for dinner after Kageyama confesses that he’s sick of ramen one day at lunch.

“Natsu’s going to try making grilled onigiri again on Thursday, Kageyama. You can come if you want. She’s been dying to have another guinea pig to test it on.”

And Kageyama does. He goes with home with Hinata on Thursday and meets Natsu for the first time, looks at the way her face brightens with excitement when she notices that her brother has brought a friend over. He eats her onigiri, burnt into the 99% chocolate dark brown colour just as Hinata had described. The onigiri is bitter and dry, and he has to contain his tears as he tries to choke the ball of rice down, but Natsu’s smile, as summery as a July sun and as soothing as a cough drop, warms him to his very core.

So it’s natural that Kageyama invites Hinata over for dinner as well. His mother even suggested Hinata sleep over, and Hinata is all bubbles and eagerness when he agrees. Kageyama picks a day when his mother is not working late, gets out the extra futons early that morning, and sprints to catch a bus at an empty bus stop.

Practice ends earlier than usual. Kageyama is so sore from the fitness drills by the time they get off the bus in Osato, but Hinata is bouncing around, unfazed, poking at every bush and bramble they pass by on the way to Kageyama’s house.

“This is so cool, Kageyama-kun!”

“Idiot, it looks the same as the town you live in.”

They’re turning onto Kageyama’s alley now. Hinata bends down to pluck up a daisy. “Yeah, but there aren’t any trains in Kami, or as many _flowers_. Kageyama, you’re, like, living in a fairy-tale – ”

Kageyama stops, and Hinata stops too, bumping into him. Because right there, in front of his gate, the setting sun is casting shadows on Oikawa-san’s sneakers and Oikawa-san’s hands and Oikawa-san’s jawline and Oikawa-san and Oikawa-san and _Oikawa-san_.

Kageyama can’t breathe.

“What?” Hinata says, peeking around him to look. “Oh.”

Oikawa-san, in the middle of emptying a cup of cat food into the blue and white dish Kageyama has been using to feed the cats himself, freezes.

A train roars past.

Oikawa-san finishes emptying the cat food into the dish. He stands.

Hinata waves at him. “Hi, Grand King.”

Oikawa-san startles, then pushes his hair out of his face. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says, gaze trained on Hinata. “What are you doing here?”

Hinata smiles. “Kageyama and I are going to play video g – ”

“Hinata.” Kageyama can’t bear this heaviness anymore. His throat is so, so dry. He gives Hinata the keys. “Go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hinata hesitates, looking at Kageyama and then Oikawa-san and then back. Oikawa-san is still staring at Hinata, frowning, and Kageyama gives Hinata a little shove. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he says again. “Go on.”

Hinata glances at Oikawa-san again. Then he takes Kageyama’s keys, and pushes open the creaking gate to the house.

Kageyama turns to Oikawa-san. He feels like someone has cut open his chest cavity and now there is so much space and not enough space in it at the same time.

“Oikawa-san,” he says, and his voice comes out scratchy. “It was you. You were feeding the cats while I was gone.”

Oikawa-san’s frown deepens. “I’ve been feeding the cats ever since I was ten, Tobio-chan,” he says coldly, pointing at the dish. “That’s my grandmother’s old saucer. You’ve just taken over, like you take over everything.” He pauses. “But you’re not doing a very good job, don’t you think, if I have to come and check every day, just in case you’re off on one of your crusades.”

_Every day_. The words echo in Kageyama’s mind. Oikawa-san comes here every day.

“Well.” Oikawa-san’s voice is cheery. “I must go. Have to get back to school. I promised Iwa-chan I’d stop practicing by ten tonight.” He flashes a peace sign, but his bangs have fallen back into his face, and his eyes are once again obscured by their shadow. He moves to brush past Kageyama.

Kageyama panics, and reaches out to grab a fistful of Oikawa-san’s jacket.

“Wait,” he says, “Oikawa-san – what – is this about the practice match?”

Oikawa-san scoffs. “The practice match? What do you take me for? A sore loser?”

Kageyama hadn’t meant it that way. He’d wanted to ask Oikawa-san what he’d meant as he walked off the court saying, “What’s the use of playing with geniuses if they’re just going demolish every improvement you make each time?” When Kageyama is the one who feels like he’s being demolished.

“No! I just wanted – ”

Oikawa-san whirls around, his eyes flashing. “God, do I have to spell it out for you, Tobio-chan? Is it really that hard to understand? It’s not about the practice match. It’s about the practice match and the match before that and the match before that. It’s about you, and about me, and the difference between you and me. It’s the fact that you’re a genius and can improve so quickly and can bulldoze ahead without a care and I have to sprint and trip over hurdles just to keep that infinitesimal lead I have over you but you’re always, always breathing down my neck.”

Kageyama feels as though all the blood has left his body. He feels light-headed, at the end of the world, and he thinks about all the years chasing after Oikawa-san and the impossibly wide chasm that still separates them.

“And _god_ ,” Oikawa-san is saying, “You just don’t know what it’s like, do you? You just ask me to _please teach you how to serve_ and you call me ‘Oikawa-san’ and talk to me like I’m your fucking hero. Well, guess what, Tobio-chan? I don’t want to be your hero. Find someone else. All I want is to crush you all over again in Spring High and then move on so I can crush Ushiwaka-chan, too.”

Kageyama’s throat is aching, throbbing. “Oikawa-s…Oikawa,” he says.

“Whatever, Tobio-chan.” Oikawa-san pushes his hands inside his tracksuit pockets.

Kageyama’s grip on Oikawa-san’s jacket loosens. “I – ”

“Nope!” Oikawa-san says loudly, moving away. “Nope, I can’t hear you! Stupid!”

Kageyama watches the number one weaved into Oikawa-san’s jacket get farther and farther away. The rifting valley between them getting wider and wider.

There is no point in chasing this time.

                                                                                                              

Hinata and his mother are in the kitchen, chattering about the new ice cream flavour that Meiji had just put out. They’re laughing. Hinata has an open box of milk in his hands, the tip of his straw chewed into shreds. His mother is washing vegetables in the sink. They look up as Kageyama slides the front door closed.

“Tobio?” his mother says, her eyes brighter than what Kageyama has seen in weeks. “Hinata-kun was telling me you saw Oikawa-kun outside. I didn’t know he lived in the neighbourhood.”

“He does,” Kageyama says, putting down his bag. His shoulder is sore, even though he’d been carrying nothing more than two notebooks and a volleyball.

Hinata is watching him. The cheeriness that had been on his face before is gone, and his gaze is curious, careful, and the slightest bit worried.

“Kageyama? Did the Grand King say anything weird?”

“Grand King?” his mother chuckles. “Is that what you guys call him?”

Hinata turns towards her, a smile appearing again. “Nah,” he says, “only me.” And leaves it at that.

Kageyama thinks Hinata is wrong. He’d been thinking Oikawa-san as king ever since he’d first seen him set to Iwaizumi-san, the toss high, a little bit more to the left than most people would like, but exactly what Iwaizumi-san had wanted, and that cross-court spike had been just on the line, precise, perfect. And from then on, Oikawa-san had occupied best setter position in Kageyama’s heart, unstoppable, untoppable.

And Oikawa-san doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want him.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says, and then pauses. He’s scared that Hinata will say no, just like Oikawa-san had said no. But Hinata is nothing like Oikawa-san. Hinata is still here. “Can you lend me your shoulder for a bit?”

Hinata’s eyes grows round. He runs over. “Of course, Kageyama!” He says, way too loudly.

Kageyama’s mother looks baffled. Hinata notices.

“Ahhhh, ‘Your Shoulder’ is just a comic I really like. It’s about this super awesome girl with a prosthetic shoulder! And I brought it over because Kageyama said he wanted read it!” He gives Kageyama a push. “Come on, the first four volumes are in my duffel.”

Kageyama doesn’t know what he’d do without Hinata. He leads the way to his room.

Hinata’s things are already spilled all over the futon. He shoves half of them out of the way and plops down.

“My shoulder’s right here, Kageyama. What can the world’s best decoy and friend do for you today?” Hinata’s words are light, but his gaze is serious.

“Hinata,” Kageyama croaks. He tries saying more, but the sentences are jammed in his throat.

Hinata starts pulling out more things from his bag.

“Found it!” he exclaims. He has a rectangular tube in his hand. He tears at the plastic packaging, and then reaches over to drop something into Kageyama’s palm.

It’s a cough drop.

“I’m sorry,” Hinata is saying, pulling a face. “It’s honey-lemon flavoured. Strawberry is best, of course, but they ran out of strawberry while I was at the convenience store.”

Kageyama shakes his head, grateful. He unwraps it and carefully puts it into his mouth. He swirls it around, the honey-lemon wraps itself around his tongue. When he thinks he can talk again, he sits down on the futon next to his friend.

“Hinata,” he says, “do you really think I’m a genius?”

A beat if silence, and then Hinata bursts out laughing. He laughs for a long time, and Kageyama begins to feel stupid for asking.

“What?” Hinata says, trying to catch his breath. “Of course not, Bakageyama! You’re the biggest idiot I know. You can’t socialize, and your grades are almost as bad as mine. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”

“Oikawa-san called me a genius.”

“Did he?” Hinata has stopped laughing now. “Well, I mean, you’re brilliant at volleyball. You go boom! Pow! Gwah! And your pinpoint toss is amazing.”

Kageyama feels like he’s sinking. “That’s exactly what he means.”

Hinata lies down, the orange of his hair loud and bright over the white of his sheets. “So what’s the problem, then?”

“He doesn’t mean it in a good way.” The cough drop in his mouth has dwindled to a tiny sphere. He shoves it into one of his cheeks, wanting to make it last as long as he can.

“I don’t get it.”

“He doesn’t think geniuses like me should see him as a hero.”

It’s no use. The cough drop is gone. The honey-lemon is fading.

A pellet hits him on the cheek. He looks down. Hinata has tossed him another one. He’s propped his face up with his elbow. He looks unimpressed.

Kageyama picks the candy up. “What?”

Hinata points at it. “Eat that. And start from the beginning. You’ve got me confused with your directionless musing. _I’m_ not a genius either.”

Kageyama’s heart swells at Hinata’s kindness. Hinata nods at the cough drop, encouraging. Kageyama takes it.

So Kageyama begins at Kitaichi. He begins with him and Kindaichi and Kunimi in tryouts in first year. He begins with watching Oikawa-san serve and set for the first time and then asking him to teach him. He tells Hinata of that game when he replaced Oikawa-san on the court, how thrilling it was, how frightening to be stepping in for someone so much better than him. He tells Hinata of the two years after, the _need_ to be better, the _want_ to catch up to Oikawa-san, and how he’d been so focussed on chasing after him, that he’d completely blinded himself to what being setter really means, what the game of volleyball is.

Hinata listens, is silent. And Kageyama ends at now, with the cats, the bus stop, and what Oikawa-san had said outside his house this afternoon. By the time he stops talking, his voice is all croaky again. Hinata hands him his water bottle, still silent. He watches Kageyama drink.

Then he says, “I thought you said you never cried.”

“I’m not _crying_ , idiot.”

Hinata reaches over and brushes his thumb across the corner of Kageyama’s eye. It’s damp.

“You got tissue in here, Kageyama?”

There’s the packet Oikawa-san had given him at the bus stop, lying on top of his desk, but Kageyama doesn’t really want to use those.

“I told you. I’m not crying. I don’t need tissue.”

Hinata spots the packet anyway and pulls one out, offering it to him.

Kageyama shoves his hand away. “No, not those.”

Hinata rolls his eyes. “Everyone cries, Bakageyama. Everyone cries and everyone needs tissue.”

“Not those ones,” Kageyama repeats.

A pause, and then. “Oh my god.”

Kageyama waits for Hinata to continue.

“Oh my god,” Hinata says again, holding up the packet. “Are these from the grand king?”

“What? _No!_ ”

“They so are!”

“So what if they are? What does that have to do with anything?”

Hinata stuffs the tissue back in the packet. “You like him.”

Something sends a shiver up Kageyama’s spine. “I don’t. I told you before: his personality is terrible. He calls me _Tobio-chan_. He makes faces at me all the time, and when I asked him for advice, he made me bow at him so he can take a picture of me ‘being no match for Oikawa-san.’”

“Did he?” Hinata looks like he’s trying to hide a smile. Kageyama thinks he’s utterly failing. “And yet, you like him. You think he’s amazing. You kept the packet of tissue he gave you. nd you thought of buying him curry buns after that time I teased you for having a crush on him. You wanted him to like you back.”

“Milk bread,” Kageyama corrects him automatically.

“What?”

“Oikawa-san likes milk-bread.”

Hinata rolls his eyes, but his expression isn’t one of annoyance. “Whatever.”

And Kageyama _had_ wanted to buy Oikawa-san milk bread. And he had wanted to make Oikawa-san smile the way Iwaizumi-san always makes Oikawa-san smile. He’d wanted Oikawa-san to talk to him, to keep sitting next to Kageyama on the bus, sharing headphones and listening to jazz, arms pressed against each others’.

The realization hit him like a serve to the back of the head. He feels all the blood rushing up to face. He can’t believe he’d basically confessed to being in love with Oikawa-san in front of Hinata. He buries his face into the futon. He can’t stand looking at Hinata right now.

“Are you going to anything about it, Kageyama?” Hinata question is a sly grin.

Kageyama thinks back to how the number one weaved into Oikawa-san’s jacket got farther and farther away today, and how he had just stood there and stared and let it.

“No,” he says, and his heart twists at his refusal. “What is there to do?”

Hinata pokes at Kageyama’s side. “I dunno. Confess?”

There is no way in hell Kageyama would do that. There is also no way in hell Oikawa-san would let him. But his treacherous mouth still asks Hinata, “how?”

Hinata pokes Kageyama again. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you there. I’m not the world’s best love advice guru.”

“Thanks.”

He can feel Hinata moving to poke at him again, and he bats his hand away before he can do so. Hinata reaches up to ruffle Kageyama’s hair instead.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Suga-san or Daichi will have some sage advice.”

“I—

And then his mother is calling them down for dinner, and Hinata is getting up and exclaiming how hungry he is, and he’s tugging at Kageyama and singing at the top of his lungs, “Food, glorious food!”, and Kageyama let’s himself stop thinking about Oikawa-san for a little bit.

                                                                                                              

“Hey, Kageyama!” Suga-san is waving at him, silver hair flashing in the sunlight. He’s by himself today, which Kageyama thinks strange. Usually Daichi and Michimiya Yui are with him.

Kageyama waves back. “Hi, Suga-san.”

Suga-san flashes him a grin. “Hinata not with you today?”

Kageyama grimaces. Hinata had waited until this morning, when Kageyama was still groggy and only half-tuned-in to the world, to tell him that actually, he had a make-up test to write.

“Oh,” Kageyama had said, focussing on not letting his toothpaste fall out of his mouth, not quite registering what Hinata was telling him. “Okay.”

“Don’t wait for me during lunch, Bakageyama!” Hinata’d said. Or he’d better have said it.

“He isn’t,” Suga-san eyes crinkle at the ends. Kageyama doesn’t trust his smile, “writing a make-up test, is he?”

“Errr, no.” Because honestly, it’s probably a make-up test of a make-up test of a make-up test. “He’s working on a group project with some of his classmates.”

“Ooooh,” Suga-san says, and his eyes crinkle even more. “What project?”

Suga-san is, above everything, sly.

“I’m not sure,” Kageyama says, slowly. “Where’s Daichi and Michimiya-senpai?”

“They have club captains’ meeting,” Suga-san says. He gestures to the bench. “Why don’t you join me, Kageyama, since it’ll be just the two of us today?”

Kageyama shrugs. He likes Suga-san. Suga-san never runs out of things to say, never makes Kageyama feel awkward.

Suga-san picks his bento back up, and Kageyama stabs his straw into his box of milk.

“Is that all you’re having again?” Suga-san sounds disapproving.

“I’m not hungry,” Kageyama replies. He’d shoved his own bento at Hinata during recess. Hinata had looked bemused.

“I have my own, Kageyama. We made our lunches together this morning, remember?”

And Kageyama did. He just didn’t feel like eating anything. A thing had been in his stomach, clawing and chewing at it, since his encounter with Oikawa-san yesterday, since Hinata had diagnosed that what he felt towards Oikawa-san was no longer fear.

Kageyama had ignored Hinata’s protests. “You need more brain food if you’re going to be writing an exam, idiot.”

And Hinata had scoffed. “It doesn’t work that way, genius.” But he’d taken the bento anyway.

_Genius._

“…can’t just drink milk,” Suga-san is saying, picking up a piece of eel. “Calcium isn’t everything, you know.”

“Suga-san,” Kageyama blurts out. “Do you think I’m a genius?”

Suga-san drops the piece of eel, visibly startled.

Kageyama elaborates, the clawing in his stomach rising up towards his throat. “I’ve never thought myself as one before. I just play volleyball. But someone,” he swallows, trying to push the thing in his throat back down, “someone called me one. And I was surprised.”

Suga-san still looks alarmed, and Kageyama thinks that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to ask. He sucks at his milk.

“Never mind, it’s—”

“Kageyama,” Suga-san says. “It’s fine. I’m – I’m glad you asked.”

Kageyama peeks at Suga-san. Suga-san is looking up, his expression a lot softer now. “It hurt when you were put in as starting setter, you know. It hurt more than anything, to be replaced, when you’ve practiced so long, so hard, only to find out that you’re still not good enough.” He pauses, and off in the distance, a bird caws. “But it’s not like you’re not working hard, too, Kageyama. It’s true that you have overwhelming skill, an advantage, but you don’t let that advantage put you at a disadvantage anymore. I don’t know what happened before, exactly, but here you work just as hard as everyone, and just as hard for everyone, and it’s difficult not to admire you for that.”

Suga-san moves so that he’s facing Kageyama now, legs crossed on the bench and gaze earnest. “I think you’re a genius, Kageyama, and I’m really glad you are. Because you’ve made me push myself harder than I’ve ever done in the past three years. Besides,” he grins, “your talent doesn’t take away mine. Just because I’m off on the sidelines doesn’t mean I’m not in the game. And anyway, your tosses to Asahi are still a little off.”

Suga-san flashes a peace sign, something that Oikawa-san does as well, but Kageyama thinks Suga-san actually means it. He smiles, hesistant.

Suga-san smiles right back. “But,” he continues, “going back to the person you were talking about. I think it’s uncomfortable for them, the fact that you don’t see that it’s a constant struggle for the rest of us to keep up. And because you can’t see it, you can’t appreciate the effort they’re making, and that’s probably what’s making them frustrated.”

Kageyama turns the words over inside his head. For all the times he’s admired Oikawa-san, it had mostly been admiration for his skill, his abilities to do the things Kageyama could not do. The occasions he’d thought about the amount of time Oikawa-san dedicates to perfecting those abilities were few and far between.

But now that Suga-san’s mentioned it, that’s why Oikawa-san had been at the bus stop at the same time as him every day, hadn’t it? Kageyama had been so fixated on the fact that Oikawa-san was _there_ that it hadn’t occurred to him.

“I,” he begins. “I never knew.”

Suga-san picks up his piece of eel again. “Well, Kageyama, you have to admit. You might be a genius on the court, but when you’re off the court, you’re still in much need of the help of your senpais, and who better to help you than your magnificent senpai, Sugawara-san?!”

And then he laughs, loud and honest. It carries all the way to the other side of the courtyard and back, and Kageyama lets the sound of it wash over him, the clawing inside of him drowned out by Suga-san’s openness. He really does think that Suga-san is magnificent.

Suga-san laughs some more, then he says, “So here’s the advice your magnificent senpai has to offer: perhaps it’s time to talk and resolve some differences.”

All the lightness brought by Suga-san’s laugh floods out of Kageyama. It’s as if the sky had suddenly dropped onto Kageyama’s shoulders, heaviness suffocates him again.

“I don’t know how. I’m not talented at talking.”

Suga-san is still chuckling. “I know. Why don’t you start talking about cats. Cats are a safe topic, is it not?”

Kageyama blinks. How did…?

He groans. “Hinata told you.”

Suga-san hums, “Mmmhmm.”

“Does the entire team know?”

“Maaaybe?”

He feels all the blood in his body rush to his face. He buries it into his arms to keep Suga-san from noticing. “I’m going to kill that bastard!”

                                                                                                              

His desire to kill Hinata escalates after school when Tsukishima comes up to him, eyes glinting behind his glasses, and says, “Don’t you have to hurry home? I heard you don’t have any more cat food. Has the king run out of funds?”

Kageyama bristles, but before he can say anything, Yamaguchi comes in between them. “Come on, Tsukki, it’s hard enough for him as it is.”

“Oh yes,” Tsukishima says, deadpan. “Life is difficult for the emotionally-underdeveloped.” Yamaguchi tugs at him, but he resists. “Still, gotta get some cat food fast, king. Wouldn’t want the little kitties to leave, would you?”

“Whatever.” He hates it when Tsukishima speaks through riddles. It’s a taunt upon a taunt because he knows that Kageyama wouldn’t understand.

“How grateful you are,” Tsukishima drawls, finally letting Yamaguchi lead him away, “when I’m trying to offer you advice.”

“Some advice,” Kageyama spits back. He has cat food of his own.

But as he’s taking the bus home, he gets it.

                                                                                                              

Kageyama can hear the music as soon as he steps onto Aterazawa. The street itself is not so different from Kageyama’s, except that it is lit by streetlamps and there are no feral cats around, and that the railroad tracks are not directly in front of the houses. Oikawa-san’s house is big, modern, with a tidy garden peppered with bushes and a wooden fence around it. One of the upstairs windows is open, and a jazz number that Kageyama doesn’t know wafts out of it. It’s a slow song, a sort of march, a trombone accompanied by a tuba and a piano. Kageyama thinks it’s strange that Oikawa-san listens to jazz, considering that he’d sounded incredulous when Kageyama had told him he liked Casiopea.

He pushes open the gates and rings the doorbell. His fingers are stiff from clutching at the cats’ dish too hard, but it’s not like he could have held it gently.

It feels like two forevers had passed by the time Oikawa-san opens the door.

“Tobio,” he says, brown hair illuminated by the softness of the light behind him, “what do you want?”

Upon closer inspection, Oikawa-san looks tired. His eyes are red, and there are dark circles around them. His hair is less styled, and he’s in his Aoba Johsai tracksuit. Kageyama wonders if he’d practiced all day today.

He wets his lips. “I – I’ve run out of cat food. And I was wondering if I could borrow some from you.”

Oikawa-san snorts, “How irresponsible of you.”

“Yes, Oikawa-san.”

“Stop with the ‘Oikawa-san’ already before I shut this door on you.”

“Okay –” Kageyama is at a loss at what to call Oikawa-san; he’d been calling him that since they’d first met.

Oikawa-san sighs. “Well, come on in, then.” He opens the door a little wider so that Kageyama can enter.

Kageyama takes off his shoes in the genkan and follows Oikawa-san into the house. The inside of it is just as neat as the outside. The music switches to something sullen and angry. He recognizes this track: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9.

“How did you get my address, by the way?” Oikawa-san throws the question behind him.

Kageyama fiddles with the dish. “Iwaizumi-san told me.”

Iwaizumi-san had been vaguely suspicious at first when Kageyama had called him to ask for Oikawa-san’s address.

“What for?” he’d asked.

“Cat food,” Kageyama had said, heart racing and racing as he begs Iwaizumi-san not to notice his lie.

“Ahhhhh.” And there’d been a clattering of something light on Iwaizumi-san’s end, and a _thunk thunk_ of him propping his feet on what was probably his table. “Are you the reason that idiot’s biking to school in the mornings now?”

“What?” Kageyama had been baffled.

Iwaizumi-san had let out a laugh like he was surprised himself. “Of course you are. Did you know that to be at school at 4:30, he has to be up at 3:30? He doesn’t even gel his hair properly now! Hang on.”

4:30?!

A rustling of papers, some scritch-scratching sounds, and a muffled “Fuck!”. And then Iwaizumi-san was back.

“Sorry,” he’d said. “Calculus sucks. Anyway, he lives on Aterazawa. It’s hard to miss. He blasts the Voyager Golden Record whenever he gets back from school to, I quote, ‘attract aliens.’”

Kageyama’d exhaled. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”

And Iwaizumi-san had laughed again. “Good luck, Kageyama.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Despite the threat, Oikawa-san’s tone doesn’t sound dangerous at all. But Kageyama doesn’t read too much into that. After all, he knows from experience that Oikawa-san can sound cheery even when calling him stupid.

The kitchen here is a lot larger than the one Kageyama has with his mother. There’s a lot more space, a lot more cabinets. Oikawa-san is rummaging through one of the cupboards.

“How much food do you need? You better get your own fast, Tobio-chan! I don’t usually give out my cat food to a rival cat-feeder, you know? But since I am such a kind hearted person – ”

Kageyama sets down the dish on the counter. It makes a rattling sound because his hands are shaking so much.

“Oikawa-san,” he says, his voice coming out closer to a squeak than he would have liked.

“Do you want wet-food or dry-food? Maybe both.”

“Oikawa-san.” He tries again. “Please.”

“Both?” Oikawa-san is still digging through the cupboard, even though he already has taken out a stack of cans and laid them next to him.

“Please teach me how not to be a genius.”

“What?” The banging in the cupboard has stopped, and Oikawa-san finally _finally_ turns to face Kageyama, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

Kageyama doesn’t want to repeat this again. His nails are digging into his palms. He thinks he might die, or Oikawa-san might kill him.

“Please teach me how not to be a genius.”

Oikawa-san makes an apparent effort to control himself. Kageyama hears him take a deep breath, and when he speaks, Kageyama is not surprised by how tight and angry he sounds.

“You can’t _stop_ being a genius, Tobio-chan, just like I can’t start becoming a genius. And that’s what’s so frustrating about you, isn’t it? You _can’t be stopped_.”

Oikawa-san is clutching at one of the cat-food cans, the knuckles and nails on his hand turned white. It’s his serving hand, and Kageyama can see the remnants of sports tape around the second and third fingers.

He reaches over and pries the can away from Oikawa-san.

“Neither can you, really,” he says.

“What?” Oikawa-san looks like he’s going to hit him. “You – ”

“No. Listen.” Kageyama doesn’t know what he’ll do if Oikawa-san does, in fact, hit him, but he keeps on going. “I never wanted you to be my hero. I’d rather my hero be Iwaizumi-san, or Suga-san, since your personality is so bad and they seem to actually like me.”

Oikawa-san makes an indignant noise. Kageyama ignores him. He’s speaking faster and faster now, trying to get all the words out before he can stop him.

“But every time I see you on the court, you’re always bringing something new to it. You’re always better. You’re always so _good_. You bike to the gym to practice at four thirty in the morning. You bike home to feed cats even though you don’t have to, and then you go back to practice even more, and you give me advice even though I might use it against you in a game. I don’t want you to be my hero, but you are.”

Oikawa-san is still silent. Kageyama heaves in a breath and continues.

“And I don’t want to be a genius. I’m not a genius, to me. I’m not. My tosses to Asahi-san are still too low, too centre. I can’t make to team come together like Suga-san does. I still don’t _get_ Tsukishima at all. And Hinata’s calling _me_ a dumbass all the time now because I don’t set properly to him because half the time I’m thinking about this...About you. And how can I be a genius if I feel like I’m always a mess?”

“Tobio.” And Kageyama doesn’t realize that he’s gripping that cat-food can too hard until Oikawa-san tugs at it, bringing them closer.

“But I still am. I still am to you. And I don’t want to be.”

“So what do you want?” Oikawa-san is close, so close. Kageyama can smell sweat and gym. He wants to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he wets his lips again and says, “I want to see you at the bus stop every day. I want to tell you about Hinata. I want you to tell me what I’m doing wrong when I’m doing something wrong. I want to give you back your two cough drops because I don’t want to owe you anything. I want us to not be rival cat-feeders –”

“We’ll always be rival cat-feeders,” Oikawa-san says.

And Kageyama says, “I know, but –”

And then he’s not saying anything because Oikawa-san is kissing him. It’s a harsh press of lips at first, and then it’s a bruising of mouths, a clacking of teeth against each others’ and a burning of tongues. But Oikawa-san’s hands are cupping his face, touch gentle, and Oikawa-san’s body is crushed against his and he’s so, so warm. And Kageyama gives as good as he gets, because he doesn’t want to lose. This. He doesn’t want to lose this.

Oikawa-san breaks the kiss. “God,” he says, breathing hard, “no wonder they call you king. You’re so demanding.”

Kageyama fists his hands in Oikawa-san’s jacket. “Shut up,” he says, impatient. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

Oikawa-san’s mouth ghosts up into a smile. “So demanding,” he repeats, and leans back in.

After, when he’s allowed Oikawa-san to pull away from him, he reaches up to touch Oikawa-san’s face for the first time, thumbs brushing at his dried sweat along his cheekbones. Oikawa-san’s eyelids flutter shut and he exhales.

“I’m sorry I made being a genius sound like a bad thing.”

“Are you, though?” Kageyama runs a hand through Oikawa-san’s hair, fingers cracking through the gel that holds the ends in place.

“Not really. But we’ve established that you’re not a genius, Tobio. You’re just an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Oikawa-san buries his face into Kageyama’s shoulder. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you. Seijou’s still going to win at Spring High.”

Kageyama smiles. He looks at the cat food cans sitting on the counter. “Well, you can’t. Because it’s not like Karasuno’s going to lose.”


	7. Hands

The day of the Spring High preliminaries, Kageyama gets up at five, drinks a box of milk, wolfs down a bowl of rice, leaves food out for the cats, and heads to the bus stop. It’s dark in his alley, so he turns on his flashlight app and heads toward the main street, his footsteps are loud in his ears.

Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san are there in their teal and white tracksuits. Oikawa-san’s hair is gelled to perfection today, but Kageyama guesses that the circles around his eyes are darker than before, ringed deeper from staying up all night watching videos of old Karasuno games. He’s turned slightly away from Kageyama, so that the _romaji_ AOBA JOHSAI emblazoned on the back of his jacket catch the yellow streetlight, and Kageyama is acutely aware of the words “Karasuno High VBC” printed in _kanji_ pressing into his own back.

Iwaizumi-san spots Kageyama first. “Hey, _Tobio_!” he says. And Kageyama thinks that Iwaizumi-san is being uncharacteristically loud. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Oikawa-san jolts. Kageyama blinks, confused. It’s strange that Iwaizumi-san is calling him Tobio. “We see each other every day, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi-san looks like he wants to laugh. The corners of his mouth tremble. “Why, yes. Yes we do.” And doesn’t elaborate.

Kageyama isn’t sure if he should remain on his side of the street. He doesn’t want to. He wants to stand close to Oikawa-san, feel his fingers graze his cheeks. He wants to touch.

He’s walking across the road before he knows it.

“We’re going to crush you today, Tobio.” Oikawa-san is still facing away from him. His voice is low in its register, just a hint of yesterday’s teasing cadence peppered in it.

Yesterday. Kageyama flushes.

Then he realizes what Oikawa-san just said. “Likewise,” he grunts.

“Hey, come on now,” Iwaizumi-san says cheerfully, thumping Oikawa-san in the back. “I thought you two had sorted out your differences already.”

Oikawa-san glares at Iwaizumi-san, massaging his back. “That _hurt_ , Iwa-chan. And we have sorted out our differences. Today, we will win, and Tobio will lose! That’s the best difference. No sorting needed!”

“ _Tobio_ will lose, eh?”

A light blush steals across Oikawa-san’s cheeks. Kageyama stares at the pink. His own cheeks are hot. “Of course he will,” he snaps. “How can you think otherwise!?”

Iwaizumi-san shrugs. “That wasn’t the point.”

Oikawa-san’s blush deepens. Kageyama forces his eyes away, focussing his gaze on Iwaizumi-san’s shoes. They’re white and red, scuffed around the edges. They’re very interesting.

“ –dorable little kouhai?” Iwaizumi-san is saying, voice curling up into s smirk.

“Shut up, Iwa-chan! Shut up!”

Ah. The bus number 7 is rounding the top of the slope. Kageyama bends to tighten up his laces, doing a double knot just in case. Then, as he stands up and starts walking across the road, he feels something warm brush against his hand. Kageyama turns around to look for its source, but it is already gone. Instead, he sees Oikawa-san looking at him. The circles around his eyes _are_ darker than before, and he’s got an angry pimple on his forehead that he’s tried to cover up with concealer. But he doesn’t look angry. He’s looking at Kageyama so…soft.

“Good luck, Tobio. You’ll need it.” And oh _god_ , his voice is soft, too.

“T-thanks,” Kageyama stutters. His tongue won’t work properly. Neither can his lungs. “S-same to you, Oikawa-san.” He turns to Iwaizumi-san. “And you, Iwaizumi-san.”

The number 7’s doors hiss open, and Kageyama steps on, mumbles an “Ohayou” to the driver and drops his change into the ticket dispenser. He makes his way to the back and plonks down in a window seat. Outside, Iwaizumi-san is poking Oikawa-san on the side, laughing. Oikawa-san is scuffing the ground with his shoe. And then, just as the bus’s doors close, he looks up and catches Kageyama’s eye. Kageyama, unthinkingly, raises his hand in a wave, and Oikawa-san’s hand comes up halfway. He stops there for a second, as if hesitating, and then, instead of waving back, moves to pull a face at Kageyama. It’s a face Kageyama’s familiar with, but it’s also unfamiliar at the same time, because there’s a strange new element to it, one that sends Kageyama’s lungs back to working overtime: Oikawa-san’s mouth is pulled back into a smile.

                                                                                                              

Hinata looks like he’s going to puke as they get off the bus at Sendai City Gymnasium.

“It’s a good thing that he didn’t puke _while_ he was on the bus,” Tanaka-san, standing a few feet away and looking a little grey around the edges himself, mutters.

Kageyama was just thinking the same thing.

“Hey,” Daichi says, voice shaking a little before gaining back its usual steadiness, “Nobody is going to puke today. If you’re going to puke, it’s because you’re working so hard on the court.”

“Daichi,” Suga-san kicks him. “No one is going to puke, period. Right, Asahi?”

“Right!”

Kageyama isn’t going to puke. He’s going to face Oikawa-san this evening and win.

                                                                                                              

He doesn’t puke, but he does get a nose bleed.

It happens after he hears Johzenji’s #2 saying that he has some crazy moves. Apparently his body decided that blocking with his face was a good idea. The ball hit him square in the nose.

It hurt, and it feels hard to breathe. He’s never had to block like that before. Hinata’s going to have a field day, but Kageyama can take it. It’s better than having the ball land on their side of the court.

The whistle blows. Daichi runs over.

“We’re subbing you out until your nose stops bleeding.”

Kageyama’s stomach does a flip. “My nose isn’t bleeding!” He wipes a hand across it impatiently. It comes away with rust-red stains.

Daichi stares at Kageyama’s hand pointedly. “It is. Why would you lie about that?”

“I’m not—”

“It’s okay, Kageyama!” Suga-san yells from the edge of the court, hand holding up a number 9 card. “Leave everything to your senpais.”

Hinata gives him a push.

“Go on,” he says, voice serious. “We have your back. You can’t play until your injury is gone.”

“I’m not _injured_ ,” Kageyama insists. He wants to play. He wants to be on the court for as long he can.

Hinata gives him another push. “Just get it checked out and hurry back.”

Kageyama wipes at his nose again. The blood isn’t stopping. He sprints over to Coach Ukai.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Coach Ukai presses a tissue into Kageyama’s hand and nods at Yamaguchi, whose face kind of falls. Kageyama understands. Yamaguchi was supposed to be swapped in as pinch server in the next rotation.

“Sorry,” he mumbles toward his teammate, “I want this no more than you do.”

Yamaguchi shakes his head. “It’s fine. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

He pulls at Kageyama’s elbow to lead to way.

They’re only a few steps out of the main arena when a voice sounds out behind them.

“Tobio?” It’s Oikawa-san. Kageyama’s chest constricts, and he removes the tissue from his nose.

Yamaguchi stops and turns around, curious.

“Don’t tell me you got subbed out.”

And Kageyama thinks he hears the lilting, taunting cadence. The tone that whispers _genius_ and _coward_ and _weak_ in his head.

“I—”

“Kageyama got us a point by blocking a spike with his face,” Yamaguchi interrupts, face impassive. “He’s going to be subbed back in as soon as he gets his nose checked out.”

Oikawa-san bursts out laughing. “You – blocked a – spike – with your face? Genius! Genius!” He doesn’t sound mocking at all now. Kageyama wonders if he’d imagined it.

Still, he scowls. “I blocked it.”

Yamaguchi nods. “That you did!”

Oikawa-san is struggling to contain his laughter. “I never said you didn’t.”

Yamaguchi tugs on his elbow again. “Come on, Kageyama. Let’s go.”

“Wait.”

Oikawa-san digs out a packet of tissue from his trackpants pocket. “Take this.”

Kageyama stares. “Do you carry tissue with you everywhere?”

“I can’t risk the chance of having you supply me with tissue again, can I?”

He takes the packet, hesitantly. “And I’m supposed to risk being in your debt again?”

Oikawa-san waves a hand at him. “No debt! No debt! We’re just rival tissue providers, Tobio-chan!” He flashes a peace sign, and bounces off.

“What the hell?” Yamaguchi says. “What the hell does he mean?”

“I don’t know,” Kageyama lies. He thinks his flaming face and somersaulting stomach may merit more medical attention than his nose.

                                                                                                              

He gets back in the middle of the second set. Johzenji is a lot closer to Karasuno than he would like.

“Oi,” he whispers to Hinata. “Didn’t you say you would hold down the fort?”

Hinata flushes pomegranate pink. “Shut up!”

He refuses to look at Kageyama for the rest of the game.

Karasuno does win, however, and if Aoba Johsai wins against Dateko, he and Oikawa-san will play against each other again as rival setters.

_Rival_. The word sends sparks shooting down his spine, electric.

                                                                                                              

“Kageyama-kun, are you having a freak-out session, too?”

Kageyama concentration breaks. He pauses in his nail-filing. “Yeah. Oikawa-san is strong.”

“You really can’t handle the Great King, huh?” Hinata tosses the ball in his hands up, once, twice, then spins it on his index finger. “Well, I’m on the same boat. You were looking forward to fighting him.”

“You can’t help what freaks you out.” Because despite the electric pulse running down his spine earlier, he’s terrified of what Oikawa-san will bring onto the court, of what Oikawa-san will bring out of Seijou on the court. And Kageyama had finally caught up to Oikawa-san yesterday, had felt what it was like to finally _grasp_ who he was.

He doesn’t want to let go.

“You’re stronger if the six of you are strong,” he tells Hinata. “I heard Iwaizumi-san say that to Oikawa-san before.”

Iwaizumi-san, hands clenched around Oikawa-san’s shoulders, yelling.

Oikawa-san, hands bruised and overworked and still scrabbling at a ball, eyes hollow.

 “At the time, I was wondering why he said something so obvious. Of course you’re stronger if the six of you are strong. But now I understand. Iwaizumi-san wasn’t talking about adding everyone’s strengths together. He was talking about multiplying them. No matter what team he’s on, Oikawa-san is able to bring out the spiker’s strength better than I can.”

And maybe he’ll always be better. Maybe Kageyama will never be able to beat Oikawa-san in that aspect.

“Hmmmm? Really?” Hinata throws the ball at Kageyama. Kageyama tosses on instinct. Hinata spikes. And Kageyama is less afraid. “Even if that is the case, but we’re at Karasuno now, right?”

Daichi comes over and claps them on the shoulder. “Alright, everyone. It’s time. Let’s fly.”

“Yeah!”

                                                                                                              

“Kageyama. Was that guy in Seijou before?”

He’s noticed him earlier. Number 16. The one with heavy kohl makeup and the yellow and black hair. Number 16’s eyes are flitting in all directions, but the angry look never leaves his face. Is that—

He looks across the net to Oikawa-san. Oikawa-san is looking right back. Eyebrows raised, smirking. Kageyama thinks that this is the first time they’ve looked directly at each other during a game.

“Who knows?” He says, heartrate kicking it up a notch. But he does know. Number 16 is Oikawa-san’s weapon of choice today.

“We’re the ones that are gonna win this match,” Hinata says, unusually quiet.

Oikawa-san’s gaze is still on Kageyama. It’s a challenging stare. Kageyama accepts. He’s got his own weapon right here. He’s got nothing to be afraid of. He won’t lose. _They_ won’t lose.

“Yeah.”

The game opens with Oikawa-san serving. Over on the Seijou side, someone yells, “Let’s go Oikawa! Nice serve!”

“Shoyu!”

“Tonkotsu!”

“Tantanmen!”

It’s the serve Kageyama’s seen a hundred thousand times. The one Oikawa-san had done during the Little Tykes practice, during the practice match and the match before that and the match before that.

Daichi receives it. Karasuno counters with a spike from Asahi. 1 – 0.

They rotate. Hinata comes in and out. Nishinoya comes in and out. They don’t use the quick. Not yet.

And then it’s Oikawa-san’s turn to serve again. And it’s different this time, different toss and run and form and speed and Oikawa-san.

The serve is out, but Kageyama’s grasp is slipping.

They rotate. Hinata comes in and out. Nishinoya comes in and out. They don’t use the quick. Not yet.

The whistle blows at the first set point: Seijou’s changing members.

“Hey, isn’t he the guy from earlier,” Hinata asks.

Kageyama looks at Number 16’s kohl-rimmed eyes and shivers. “Yeah. Be careful.”

“Make sure your spikes don’t get caught!” yells Daichi. “Everyone get ready.”

It turns out they don’t have to get ready, because after the ball goes to the other side, and Oikawa-san tosses to Kindaichi, it isn’t Kindaichi who hits.

It’s Number 16.

Well, Kindaichi _gets_ hit. That counts, right?

Still, it’s pretty bold of Seijou to be switching Kunimi, whom they’ve presumably had as a starter all year, with this new member. This angry, selfish member.

Angry and selfish. Kind of like Kageyama before.

Across the net, Oikawa-san doesn’t look horrified like the rest of his team anymore, doesn’t look stunned. He’s calculating, shoulders tense as he stares at Number 16. And then, all of a sudden, he relaxes, and the corners of his mouth tilts up. Kageyama’s breath stutters; Oikawa-san has figured Number 16 out.

It had taken him all of one spike and a minute of shrewd observation. How long had Kageyama taken to figure Hinata out? Hinata who is his partner and friend. Weeks, even months. Maybe not until after they’d fought.

They switch sides. Number 16 takes his place next to Kindaichi.

“The guy from the previous set is starting this time,” Hinata whispers.

Kageyama nods. “Since he’s replacing Kunimi, he might be pretty smart.”

How will Oikawa-san use his new player? What is he—

“Your hands are shaking, Kageyama-kun.”

Startled, Kageyama looks up.

Hinata points at his trembling fingers. “You’re not going to puke, are you?”

Kageyama moves them so that Hinata won’t see. “I’m not you, idiot.”

Hinata shrugs. “You better not give me bad tosses.”

“My tosses are always good!”

But his hands aren’t shaking anymore.

There’s no use in comparing. Kageyama will give Hinata the best tosses he can.

And so he sinks into the game. He doesn’t think about slipping grasps and losing ground. There might have been some insane cut shots from Number 16 and monstrous serves from Oikawa-san, but for Karasuno, this set is full of feints and pipes and double quicks and minus tempos. Suga-san gets subbed in mid-game, and they pull off their two-setter-one-point strategy. Kageyama spikes a straight past Kindaichi, just on the line. His hands are pink from the impact. _Again._ He could do this again.

Vaguely, at the back of his mind, Kageyama registers how different Oikawa-san is this game. He makes mistakes, sometimes, reading the spikes wrong and going up for a block too soon or too slow. He tosses persistently to Number 16, and even though his player gets more strikes out than in, it’s evolving, the combination between them getting bolder and more well-oiled every time. Once, he tears the ball off a three-person block and sends Number 16 spiking at a crazy angle. And Kageyama could stop and think how disastrously beautiful the hit was, but it’s Karasuno’s turn to receive, and Daichi dig is perfectly precise, and everyone’s telling Kageyama they’re there, and Hinata’s flying quick, quick, and quicker, and their own spike could be as disastrous and as beautiful.

Again. _Again._

Match point.

He feels like everything he ate this morning – milk, rice, that energy drink between the break – is gone from his stomach. And yet, there is no hunger, just a strange sort of calm. Kageyama can see everyone around him: Hinata’s form before he spikes, Tanaka-san’s jump in slow motion, and the concentration carved into Oikawa-san’s face as he dives forward for a receive. Kageyama can almost see himself as well. His body is more responsive than usual, and he can tell how well he’s doing, how their team is doing.

He’s never felt like this before, this focussed, this attuned to what his teammates are doing, this able to move smoothly with them.

The ball is back on Karasuno’s side. Daichi sends it flying to Kageyama.

It fit perfect in his hand.

And then Hinata jumps.

The world stops.

Kageyama hesitates. Is this the right time? Can Hinata aim somewhere where no one can get to, when everyone is watching him like hawks? Tanaka-san would definitely be able to get a hit in even when cornered by three blockers, and Asahi-san would be able to the blast through Seijou’s defense.

But Hinata is looking at Kageyama, patient, waiting, trusting.

So Kageyama tosses.

The world spins.

It ignites under Hinata’s touch and explodes right in Seijou’s centre court.

_Thud. Thud. Thudthud._

They won. They _won_. _They won._

Kageyama feels like he’s going to explode and explode and explode again. He whirls on Hinata. “Oi! If you know you’re going to be able to do it, tell me sooner.”

Hinata’s grin is blinding. “Didn’t you feel like we could? You knew. You knew that we could.”

He did. But he’s not going to admit it, damn it.

He must have smiled, though, because Hinata backs off into a fight stance, half wary, half teasing. “What? You want to start something?” But then he’s coming close again, looking like he can barely contain himself. Like Kageyama. “But that was so cool, though! I totally thought I was going to get it. But when it actually stops right in front of you, it’s sort of scary!”

He pauses, and his eyes go wide and genuine, and Kageyama thinks Hinata’s sort of scary like this. “You’re really awesome, Kageyama-kun! Let’s do it more often!”

Volleyball, he remembers, is Hinata’s world, too, and Hinata’s volleyball is Kageyama’s volleyball. Hinata is Kageyama’s world.

It’s like he’s swallowed ten cough drops at once. He’s warm. So warm. He kind of wants to go over and hit Hinata. He kind of wants to hug him.

He manages to get out a “Dumbass! Dumbass Hinata.” But Hinata’s already sprinting off to where the team is huddled on the court, yelling. Karasuno. They’re Kageyama’s world, too. He smiles, and begins to follow.

Footsteps sound behind him. He turns.

Oikawa-san, across the net. Eyes, tight. Jaw, clenched. And suddenly, the adrenaline and the warmth of victory is drained out of him all at once. Kageyama’s heart, as if it hadn’t been overworked enough for the three sets of the match, decides to start skipping beats.

“Now we’re at one win, one loss,” Oikawa-san growls, sweat dripping down his nose. “Don’t get on your high horse.”

Kageyama blinks. They’re even now. Tied. He wants—he wants to play Oikawa-san some more.

“I won’t,” he says.

Oikawa-san’s mouth twists. His knuckles are white. He’s looking at Kageyama with an intensity that’s hard to decipher, not that Kageyama’s ever been good at deciphering expressions. It’s a different one than the one they’d shared at the beginning of the match, a heavy stare: all the emotions Kageyama can’t read swirling around. All the emotions, but no warmth.

“I—” he begins, then stops. Oikawa-san’s world is volleyball, too, but his volleyball is not Kageyama’s volleyball. Loss. It’s that feeling like the Earth imploding, and you can’t hear anything besides your own heart and hands telling you that you’re not enough. You’re still not enough.

There’s nothing left to say.

The ground between them shakes, though newly healed, threatens to crack.

It scares him.

He turns around and runs back to his cheering team. His heart rattles around his airways. Rattling and rattling.

When he gets there, Hinata jumps on him. Tanaka-san ruffles his hair. Suga-san wraps an arm around his shoulder and squeeze him tight. Kageyama breathes in sweat and volleyball and _Karasuno_.

He’s not alone. He’s not alone.

But the ground’s shaking doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop.

                                                                                                              

He’s on his way to the bathroom when he hears them.

It’s Ushijima. Kageyama would know his voice from anywhere.

“This is a warning, Oikawa,” Ushijima says. “Don’t choose the wrong path again. You chose the wrong path. There was a place where you could have realized your true potential. Because of your worthless pride, you didn’t choose it.”

_Worthless pride_. Kageyama thinks Ushijima is wrong. There’s nothing worthless about Oikawa-san; he comes in absolutes: absolute trust, absolute tenacity, absolute boldness.

He swallows. He knows he shouldn’t be listening. This is none of his business.

And yet.

God, Hinata is such a bad influence on him.

“—trying to tell me that I should have gone to Shiratorizawa instead of Seijou?” Oikawa-san scoffs. “No team is guaranteed victory.”

Ushijima appears to not have heard what Oikawa-san had said. “If nothing else, I can say that my team is the strongest one here.”

“Wow, I see you’re still laughably confident.” Oikawa-san laughs. It’s a cold, cold sound. Kageyama shivers. “Worthless pride, huh? That’s true.”

Kageyama peeks around the corner. Oikawa-san’s back is facing him, the AOBA JOHSAI VBC on his jacket is blurring. And he realizes that Oikawa-san is shaking. “Listen up Ushijima, I never thought my decision was wrong and my volleyball hasn’t ended yet. Don’t you ever forget my worthless pride.”

Oikawa-san could have gone to Shiratorizawa, just as Kageyama could have gone to Aoba Johsai. No team is guaranteed victory, but with the choices that they’d made, at least they’re guaranteed their team.

Ushijima, in Shiratorizawa burgundy, narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but Oikawa-san isn’t finished.

“Oh yeah. If you keep all your attention on me, you’re going to get stabbed from the direction you least expect.”

Ushijima crosses his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oikawa-san shrugs, a casual gesture. “My kouhai isn’t smart, and isn’t even close to my level yet, but now that he’s not by himself, he’s strong. When crows flock, they might even kill a large eagle.”

There’s nothing casual about his words. It’s a threat to Ushijima, but to Kageyama, it’s an acknowledgement. Oikawa-san hadn’t told Ushijima that Kageyama would beat him because he was a genius. He had said Kageyama would beat Ushijima because Kageyama was strong, and he was stronger now because his team is strong. Kageyama is shit at Japanese, but even he understands.

He leans his head back against the wall.

Perhaps there is still something to be said.

                                                                                                              

He buys milk bread from the convenience store a stop away. The storekeeper tells him about how uneventful her day was as she scans his purchase, and Kageyama listens to her, soaking in the warmth of company. Afterward, he walks home, passes by the two bus stops on opposite sides of the road, where he and Oikawa-san had waited for the bus almost every morning, and inadvertently glances at Oikawa-san’s stop just to check…

Kageyama turns away. The miso and green tea from the morning has faded, and in its place dances the scent of fried mackerel and freshly steamed rice. The streetlamp hasn’t been turned on yet, but Kageyama instinctively looks toward the cracks in the concrete it usually floods into. The dandelion flower from before is gone, but its leaves and several blades of grass are still there. Osato is quiet, save for the cawing of a couple birds and his footsteps.

Right-turn, left-turn, and then left again. And then Kageyama is rounding the corner back onto his alleyway, the one peppered with daisies and morning glories and feral cats, and he’s wondering to himself if he has to lie about not having cat food again, just to give Oikawa-san the milk bread.

But Oikawa-san is there, in front of his house, bending over and petting Michiko, a cupful of cat food in his free hand. He’s changed into casual clothes now, just a t-shirt and cargo shorts, the white of his knee brace just visible underneath the blue of the hem.

Kageyama hesitates. He clears his throat. Oikawa-san doesn’t look up, and Kageyama is moving forward before he registers that he is doing so.

Oikawa-san is still not looking up. He’s scratching Michiko behind her ears. Michiko is rubbing her flank along Oikawa-san’s leg, and Kageyama can hear her purrs get louder and louder.

“I was going to feed them,” Kageyama says.

“You’re not going to let me win here, either, huh?”

“Rival cat feeders don’t just _let_ each other win, Oikawa-san.” His blood is thundering through his veins, as loud and messy as the sound of the trains.

Oikawa-san is quiet. And, after a few seconds’ pause, says, “That’s true.”

Kageyama bends down and holds out his hand for Michiko, fully expecting to be rebuffed. But she comes over. She does, _she does_ , and he scratches her behind her ears for the first time.

He adjusts his grip on the milk bread, then, remembering why the bread was there in the first place, thrusts it Oikawa-san.

_Thank you_ , he wants to say. _Thank you for teaching me even when you didn’t want to, for giving today your all. Thank you for thinking I’m good enough._

But the words only come up halfway, and there’s a traffic jam in his throat.

Underneath his bangs, Oikawa-san’s eyes flicker toward the bread. He doesn’t stop stroking Michiko.

“I don’t want a pity-prize, Tobio, especially not one from you.”

Kageyama almost drops the loaf of bread. “Since when have I ever pitied you, Oikawa-san?” He coughs, forcing the traffic jam to disperse.

He tries again.

“Thank you.”

Those are the only two words he manages get out. He wills Oikawa-san to understand.

Another cat comes up and butts his head at Oikawa-san. Oikawa-san transfers his attention to it.

Kageyama waits. Was this actually the way to get Oikawa-san to keep talking to him? Why is he trusting Hinata’s advice, anyway, when Hinata himself had already admitted to not being the world’s best love-advice guru?

His arm is tired. He can feel his muscles shake from the effort he’d put into the two games today. Oikawa-san is probably not going to take the milk bread. That’s fine. Kageyama can bring it in and share it with his mother.

But, just as he is retracting his hand, Oikawa-san reaches out to take the package from him. He’s finally looking up, looking at Kageyama, and Kageyama thinks Oikawa-san’s eyes are the prettiest shade of brown he’d ever seen, and that’s including the brown of Natsu’s 99% chocolate onigiri.

“This can be your repayment of the debt you owe me, Tobio.”

What? For the packet of tissue?

“What debt, Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa-san smiles. Not one of the shit-eating grins that Kageyama usually sees, but one that is teasing, gentle, genuine. “I gave you two cough drops. Two of my favourite flavour, too!”

Kageyama feels himself smile, too. And Oikawa-san doesn’t say that his face is scary, and Kageyama’s smiling even more. “That milk bread is worth more than two cough drops.”

“Liar.”

He thinks back to the trembling in his hands as he unwrapped that first cough drop, to the taste of honey-lemon lingering in his mouth, to the warmth that spread from the tip of his tongue all the way down to his toes.

“Yeah,” he says, helpless. “Yeah.”

Oikawa-san gives Michiko one last pat before standing up. Kageyama doesn’t miss his wince when he puts a bit too much weight on the bad knee.

“Do you – ” and, god, he’s nervous all over again. “Do you want to come in? My mum got me a great rub for sports injuries last month.”

The sun is setting. A train whooshes by, rattling and irregular in rhythm, just like Kageyama’s heart. He reaches out and takes one of Oikawa-san’s hands. Oikawa-san does not pull away, his fingers curling around Kageyama’s in return, and Kageyama can feel all the callouses and roughness against his palm. He takes a moment to marvel at Oikawa-san’s hand, at the immense power and cleverness and understanding thrumming underneath the skin. This hand, that had served and set and spiked admiration and fear all the way through Kageyama’s middle school years, this hand that is now firmly laced with his own.

Kageyama brushes his thumb across the back of it and tugs. Together, he and Oikawa-san push open the creaking front gates, and make their way towards the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Come be my friend on [tumblr](http://deadseasalt.tumblr.com) :)


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